


Keep Calm and Conceal Vulcans

by lalazee



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crack, Dramedy, F/M, M/M, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-01-26
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 93,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalazee/pseuds/lalazee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a time when alien life has yet to be discovered, Spock's ship crash-lands in Jim Kirk's cornfield. But dammit, this is real life – not an episode of The X-Files!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Either Jim was suffering vivid nightmares from that shitty Chinese food he’d eaten earlier, or something the size of Rhode Island just landed in his _back-fucking-yard_.

Normally he’d be inclined to go with the nightmare option. He could still queasily recall the one time – yeah, because it only happened _once_ – he’d eaten a Dominos pizza that had been lying on the counter for, uh, a while. Next thing he knew he was waking up in the shower, flailing and screaming because he’d thought Norman Bates was trying to fillet him with a lightsaber.

On the plus side, he’d been in Janet Leigh’s body, and _damn_ did she have nice tits.

Anyway, the point was this: Jim was looking out his bedroom window, and there was very definitely a massive, steaming crater in his cornfield. Jim took off his glasses, checked them for smears, and put them back on for a double-take.

Definitely _not_ a dream. Or else he would be Janet Leigh or Robert Redford, or something.

Well and also, the impact of whatever-the-hell-it-was knocked him from sleep, and sent him rolling off the bed. _That_ had been an eye opener.

So, clad in his tight boxers, and armed with a shotgun he’d fondly named Little Jimmy, Jim stumbled down the stairs two at a time and dashed out the front door with bare feet. His lungs were already burning by the time he reached the edge of the field, and began weaving his way through the towering stalks.

The moon was nowhere to be seen, but Jim could make out the grey plumes of smoke contrasting with the pitch of the night. He could also smell the distinct singe of his crops – which, disappointingly, didn’t smell anything like popcorn.

Residual heat from the crater indicated to Jim that he was closing in on the source of his non-nightmare. He slowed instinctively, and flicked off the safety of his gun. Holding his breath, Jim crept up slowly and squinted into the darkness. He could see the corn thinning out, and something smoking beyond that.

Every muscle in his body tensed. Jim brought the shotgun up as a precaution, with the butt pushing against his armpit. The only sound he could hear was the blood rushing to his head, and the muted sizzle of whatever was cooling down not twenty feet away from him. Jim swallowed hard, put one foot before the other; his adrenaline spiking, as he –

A tall shadow came _out of fucking nowhere_ and scampered past his line of vision. Jim yelped, sounding more like Janet Leigh than he cared to admit, and reflexively fired.

Always with the itchy trigger finger.

The force of his weapon against his arm tripped him back a few steps, and would most certainly bruise – but Jim was more concerned with the very human _augh_ he heard in the near vicinity, and the thump of a body hitting the ground shortly after.

Oh, motherfuck. _I shot someone again_.

Jim rushed to the epicentre of the crash, only catching from the corner of his eye an egg-shaped –vessel? – before he noticed the lanky figure sprawled at the edge of the circle. Jim fell to his knees at the man’s side, while still clutching his weapon in one hand. The man was lying on his stomach, turned away from Jim. He didn’t appear very... conscious.

“Shit, shit, _shit_.”

Jim gripped the stranger’s shoulder and rolled him with a huff of effort – jeez, the guy was heavy as a horse.

Naturally, his eyes had chosen _now_ of all times to fully adjust to the unlit night – and Jim absolutely, positively saw _pointy ears_. Oh sweet Jesus he’s an elf; he’s an elf from the North Pole, or possibly Mordor – no, elves aren’t from Mordor, they’re from Rivendell and Mirkwood and –

The shadowed stranger opened his eyes. Jim scrambled to his feet, and aimed the gun in his face.

“The fuck’re you?” Jim asked, too loud. Then quietly, “You’re okay?”

There was a long pause, and Jim thought maybe he’d imagined seeing those black-holes for eyes open. He shivered, and attributed his reaction to the chill of night, and not the expressionless look on the guy’s face.

“You have shot me, but I predict I will survive.”

Jim laughed and shook his head, because this really was feeling like a hallucination.

“Bullshit. You don’t sound like someone who just got shot.”

“I assure you that I am distinctly aware of a bullet lodged in my gluteus maximus.”

“I shot you in the _ass_? Christ, I – well, you fucking deserved it! What are you doing skulking around my property, and what the _hell_ is this thing behind me?” Jim gestured wildly with his gun, looking between the egg-thing and the elvish guy.

The stranger took his time sitting up, and leaned on what Jim suspected was his good ass-cheek. “I am –” He swayed, one hand going to his forehead. “I apologise. I may lose consciousness due to blood loss in sixteen-point-seven minutes if I am not medically treated.”

Jim scowled. “Well that’s not _my_ problem. Didn’t you see the ‘no trespassing’ signs all over the place? Who are you? I should call an ambulance. Or do I call the police? No, I hate the police – they’re all uptight shitb –“

“ _No_.” It was the first inflection Jim had heard in the stranger’s voice. He struggled to his feet, although his voice didn’t portray the effort he was clearly putting in. “Do not alert the authorities.”

“Okay, that’d be a great idea aside from the part where it’s _not_. Come on, man - I’ve already shot you. You lost, I won, and you’re fucked.”

“No. Please.” He took a stiff step forwards, his face eerily pale, even without the moonlight. “My name is Spock. I am from the planet Vulcan.”

Jim could make out severe, slanted brows and inky hair – and shit, this Spock guy was taller than him by a few good inches, and that was saying something.

He also thought he was an alien, apparently.

“The planet Vulcan, huh? Gosh, if _that’s_ all…”

“I believe you are employing sarcasm, but I speak in earnest. You merely have to inspect the vessel in which I arrived to validate my claim.”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna do that.”

“Please. Look.”

Jim’s gaze flitted between Spock and the... space... ship. Or, whatever it was.

Unfortunately, the moment he took a step forward, the so-called-Vulcan just about face-planted.

“Woah there!” Jim lurched as he dropped his gun and caught Spock’s shoulders, allowing the stranger to sag against his body. “Christ, you weigh a ton.”

“I require rest and medical aid.” Spock’s breath was like a puff of steam against Jim’s ear.

“I’m gonna call an ambulance,” Jim decided as he shifted beside Spock. Shoulder to shoulder, Jim could wrap his arm around Spock’s thin waist and take the brunt of his weight. “Let’s get you to my house. Don’t try and rob me or I’ll shoot you again. Anyway, I don’t have shit worth stealing, so you’re out of lu –“

“No. Ambulance,” Spock hissed between his teeth. “Surely you have the skills to extract a bullet from a clean wound such as mine.”

“You want me to yank a bullet from your _ass_?” Jim asked incredulously, as they stumbled through the field.

“Affirmative.”

“Um, well, I guess I could. It’s not like I’ve had practice. Oh wait, actually – no, yeah, I do – but I have a nasty scar to show for it. And if we’re being totally honest, I don’t think I deserved to be shot because I was peeing on some old guy’s rose bushes. I mean, who sits on their porch in the _dark_ , with a _shotgun_ , and waits for drunks to come ‘round and piss in their garden? I’ve never heard actual proof that it can kill plants, you know? Hey – are you conscious?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Hey man, _I’m_ giving _you_ a hand here.” Jim sputtered as a cornhusk whacked him in the mouth.

“You are also the person who shot me without provocation.”

“You were a shadow in the night, okay? It was freaky. You could have been a ghost.”

“If I had been a spectre you would have been unable to shoot me,” Spock pointed out as they broke through the crops and onto Jim’s yard.

“Y’know what? Pass out, see if I care.”

They hobbled awkwardly towards the front door. The outdoor porch lights flickered on, and suddenly Jim got a real eyeful of this mystery man.

And he nearly dropped the guy.

Spock’s ears were definitely pointed. Or, he was using excellent makeup. Maybe he’s born with it – maybe it’s Maybelline? His eyebrows were plucked to high hell, that was for sure.

But that wasn’t what tempted Jim to drop the guy like a sack of potatoes, and lock the door behind him. Oh no. It was the blood.

Green blood.

Yeah - how do you make _that_ shit up? Green globules of dried blood clumped at one temple, and Spock’s lip was split and swelling a very interesting tealy-green colour. But that was... not normal.

That was not human.

Jim supposed things could be weirder.

At least Spock wasn’t a Wookiee.

“All right E.T., let’s get you in.”

They took each porch stair one at a time, and Jim felt Spock’s body stiffen in pain with every step. But his face remained expressionless, and his breathing was slow and even.

Jim’s Springer Spaniel, Gumby, was standing on the other side of the screen door. He emitted a high-pitched whine and wiggled his butt on the floor when he saw Spock.

“It’s okay, Gumby,” Jim crooned in a low, soothing voice that he reserved for calming dogs, horses, and women. “Just Daddy and his new, uh, friend. Be good. Stay.”

“Gumby?” Spock murmured.

Jim gave a small shrug as he tugged the door open with one hand, and snuck them through the entrance. The screen door hit Spock on the ass as they got in, but Jim was the one to flinch instead of Spock.

“I don’t even know, man. Fuckin’ animal shelters and their pre-named animals, right? Gumby always scared me - never watched it. I was more of a _Lamb Chop’s Play-Along_ toddler. Do you know that annoying song – you know the one, right? _This is the song that never ends, yes it goes on and on my friend_ – ”

“Do you ever cease speaking?”

“Do you ever _not_ talk like a dictionary?”

“I speak proper English.”

“So do I. I just speak more of it than you do. We’re gonna walk upstairs now.”

“Must we?”

“We must.”

“I can see a couch.”

“You’re not bleeding on my couch, man. That was my dad’s couch.”

“I will bleed out on your stairs, shortly.”

“What a pessimist. We’re almost to the top.”

They struggled to the landing, and by now Jim was carrying nearly all of Spock’s weight. It felt like the guy had steel for bones. Or Adamantium? _Oh_.

“Do you by any chance have like, uh, _claws_ that come out of your hands?”

Spock turned his head to stare at Jim. “No. What is your name?”

“Jim. Jim Kirk.”

Dark eyes narrowed. “Please procure me a bed, Mr. Kirk.”

“I’m on it.”

“You are not on your bed, you are in the corridor.”

Jim studied Spock’s face as he helped him into his master bedroom; as he really couldn’t tell if the guy was joking or not. He’d leave it for now.

Weird guy, alien, X-Man – whatever.

“Lay down.”

Gumby – who had apparently been trailing after them – jumped at the foot of the bed, and lay down.

Jim smacked his forehead. “Not _you_. Get off the bed, doofus. Spock, lie down on your stomach.”

He certainly didn’t need to be told twice. Guy toppled like a redwood.

And then Jim got sight of Spock’s ass. Not in _that_ way – although wow, can you say buns of steel? – but in the way that there was most definitely a bullet hole in his right butt-cheek. Green blood was seeping thickly down the back of his thigh.

“Well, shit.”

“I suspected as much,” Spock wheezed, with his face in the pillow.

“I think we need to get you out of those clothes.”

There was a pause.

“Spock?”

“I am inclined to agree.”

“Right, okay, uh – you just lie there, now.”

“I had planned on that particular course of inaction.”

“You’ve sure got some Vulcan sass on you,” Jim muttered as he kneeled on the bed beside Spock, and ran his hands along the back of the uniform. It was kind of a one-piece thing – like a race car driver. Sort of. Except it was made of some really durable, thin material Jim didn’t recognise.

He slid his fingers down Spock’s sides. “This thing got a zipper, or is it just painted on?”

“Down the spine. It is concealed between the dark purple piping.”

Jim’s nails jammed between the raised lines of colour starting at the high collar at the back of Spock’s neck, and yep - there it was. Tongue between his teeth, Jim carefully swept the zipper down, and revealed a smooth landscape of pale skin. His flesh was hot to the touch.

“Crap, I think you have a fever or something. You’re burning up.”

“I am not.” Spock sounded a bit... distant. Breathy. “My body temperature is higher than yours.”

“Oh.” Jim carefully turned Spock on his side. He helped him pull one arm from the clinging sleeve. “Because you’re an alien, right?”

Spock sighed as he was rolled on to his bad side, but he obediently held out his arm. “Yes, Mr. Kirk. Because I am an alien.”

“You look more like an elf, to me,” Jim mumbled, and peeled the suit down to the small of Spock’s back.

Spock didn’t even seem to have the energy to refute the claim. Jim scooted to the end of the bed, at Spock’s feet, and tugged off his boots with growing haste. A little less conversation, a little more action was probably a good motto right about now.

Jim located a zip along the side of the calf that went to the knee – why the hell were these uniforms so tight? Not that he was necessarily complaining; they would be kind of hot, under different circumstances. All stretching fabric over taut muscle...

“Remain concentrated on your task, Mr. Kirk,” Spock grumbled with his face in the pillow.

“ _Huh_?” Jim boggled, but snapped back to attention. He tugged on the hem of one leg, then the other; slowly bringing down the fabric.

Jim kept his eyes glued to Spock’s calves once a firm, white ass was exposed. Yeah, he knew he’d have to look at it in a second, but it wasn’t like he wanted to make the guy more uncomfortable than he probably already was.

He quickly stripped Spock and tossed the uniform to the floor – which Gumby promptly padded over to and lay upon. Jim really hoped Spock wasn’t allergic to dogs. Was that outfit dry-clean only?

Then he looked at the wound. “Shit. I really did a number on you, didn’t I?”

Spock only grunted.

“I’ll be right back. First-aid supplies and stuff.” Jim raced out of the room, and returned moments later with his fix-all kit. Bones insisted that he remained stocked on _everything_ that CVS had to offer because, well – Jim _did_ tend to get himself in more than a few scuffles.

“Tweezers, right? To pull the pellets out?”

“They will suffice, I suppose.”

“God, so snooty.”

“I have been shot.”

“No excuse for rudeness.”

“In many cultures, shooting someone is considered rude.”

“Okay, I’m not having this discussion again. You were on _my_ property, and I can do whatever the hell I want to you.” With that, Jim soaked a cloth in antibacterial and slapped it on Spock’s ass with on clean swipe.

Spock flinched – because yeah, Jim was kind of hoping that stung – but said nothing.

Jim rolled his eyes at the tough-guy routine, and slowed to a gentle swipe of cloth over skin.

“Are all Vulcans as hairy as you?”

Spock didn’t make a sound.

“Hey, are you unconscious yet?”

“No.”

“So you’re just embarrassed because you’ve got a hairy ass.”

“I do not –” Spock sounded a teensy bit murderous. “What is the extent of my injury?”

“Well...” Jim set aside the now-green towel and leaned in to squint at Spock’s ass. “Oh my god!” His hand flew to his mouth.

Spock’s shoulders tensed. “What?”

“You’re a _huge_ fuckin’ baby, is what,” Jim accused.

“I am certainly not an infant.”

“Um, you certainly _are_ , because you’ve hardly even been shot! I musta been too far away to get a clean hit. I mean, you’ve got some tiny pellets lodged in there, but it’s not like, _life-threatening_.”

Spock may or may not have groaned into his pillow – leaning strongly towards the _may_.

“Wow,” Jim murmured, staring at Spock’s buckshot-speckled butt cheek. “You are like, a shittier alien than E.T. You’re on Alf-levels, here.”

“Please be silent,” Spock grumbled into the pillow. “Attend to the wounds _you_ caused, and allow me to return to my ship.”

“ _Fine_ , fine – no need to get pissy about it.” Jim finally went quiet as he disinfected the tweezers to the best of his ability, and began to pluck the miniscule lead pellets from beneath Spock’s skin. Some would have to remain – he knew from experience that as the wound healed they would get pushed to the surface, or just encased by healthy flesh. Either way, there was no harm in it.

“So, are you gonna go home already?” Jim asked quietly, as he began to dress the wounds.

For a long while Jim thought Spock had fallen asleep. Finally, he turned his head from the pillow, and stared blankly at the open doorway.

“I do not believe I will be able to.”

“What – why? Because you crashed?”

“There are complications surrounding my arrival to Earth, yes.”

“How _did_ you end up here, Spock? I mean –“ Jim’s brow furrowed as he stared at the small of Spock’s back. “You _are_ , like... not from around here, right? I’m not just having a really cool dream?”

Spock propped himself up on his elbows, and sent an arched look over his shoulder. “You are finding this experience enjoyable?”

Jim switched gears, and offered his most comical leer. “ _Oh_ yeah.”

The Vulcan just offered a bland expression in return. Jim’s attention was drawn to the swollen gash under Spock’s really unfortunate bowl-cut. Style of the future? No thanks.

“I think what’s made you so dizzy isn’t the gunshot, but your head.” Jim gestured vaguely to Spock’s forehead, where slender fingers tentatively prodded.

“I believe you are correct,” Spock murmured. “Have you completed with...”

Jim could swear Spock’s ears went grass green. He also realised for the first time that he was still stripped down to his Wolverine boxers, and that his feet were cut and muddy from the trek around his farm.

He repressed a nervous giggle. “Yup – yes. Uh, done.” He scooted off the bed, and quickly grabbed an old quilt and tossed it over Spock. “There, shame hidden. Turn over so I can get to that nasty cut.”

Spock obeyed without argument. It looked like he was getting a bit more compliant as the night wore on. The guy was probably exhausted – what with, you know, hurtling through the atmosphere and getting shot and stuff. Not to mention whatever led to Spock’s crashing here in the first place.

Wandering back to the bathroom, Jim grabbed another hand-towel and soaked it in hot water. When he returned and perched on the side of the bed, Spock looked up at him with guarded eyes.

Jim carefully brought his palm to Spock’s forehead and swept his bangs back. With the other hand, he gently dabbed at the oozing cut.

“So, you’re not here to abduct me or anything?”

“Does that appear to be the situation?”

“Well, no. It looks like you’ve fucked up, is what.”

“Indeed.” Spock shut his eyes, and that made Jim kind of sad, for some reason.

“So, um,” Jim paused to chew on his top lip, and set aside the towel. He turned back with antibiotic. “What’s the plan now?”

“I must return to my ship.”

“You don’t mean _now_.”

“I intend to depart as soon as possible.”

Jim frowned, and stuck a Dora the Explorer band-aid to Spock’s forehead. He totally blamed Joanna for that – whenever he ended up babysitting McCoy’s kid, she always ended up making him buy ridiculous shit.

On the plus side, he now knew that _estrella_ meant star.

“You’re not going anywhere right now.”

Spock opened his eyes, only to narrow them into black slits. “You cannot dictate my actions.”

“Um, as the guy who can hold your clothes hostage, I can and will.”

“I am not hindered by nudity,” Spock replied loftily. He looked utterly ridiculous right now; with his rumpled hair and pink band-aid, and nakedness. Okay, the nudity was less ridiculous and more hot, but...

Jim couldn’t help but smile. “I can see that. But you’re not going anywhere in the state you’re in. You need some rest – believe me, I know how these things go. The adrenaline’s keeping you going right now, but tomorrow you’ll feel like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

Spock shook his head and sat up, his bowed forehead close to Jim’s shoulder. “I must collect my transmitter from the vessel. It is imperative that I broadcast a distress signal, in order for someone to receive it and come to my aid.”

“Let me get it, then.” Jim pressed a hand to Spock’s arm for a moment; just to coax him back onto the mattress.

Spock jolted from the touch, and his eyes snapped to Jim’s. “No. I could not begin to impose.”

“Your blood is literally on my hands. I think if you’d consider anything imposing, it would be that. And I don’t think of it that way, so let’s cut the polite crap - do you, or do you not, want me to go and get your transmitter from the ship?”

“I –” Spock blinked several times; with his face still expressionless, otherwise. “Yes. I would appreciate the gesture.”

Jim grinned and clapped Spock on the shoulder. “All right then. What am I looking for, and how do I get it?”

“You will require a code to release the door lock. Retrieve a writing utensil.”

“Just tell me, I’ll remember.”

Spock released a soft huff of breath. “You will not. The code is in Vulcan.”

“Yeah, but it’s going to be like a keypad, right?”

“Indeed.”

Jim shrugged. “What are the dimensions?”

“Seven by seven.”

“I thought you said this would be hard? Just correlate a key with numbers one through forty-nine. I’ll remember.”

Spock stared at him, and Jim held his gaze without expression. He was used to people thinking he was an idiot. He didn’t take offense. Life had grown much easier now that people thought he was a farm hick; rather than scrapping his way through high school with teeth and fists and nails, because he was too intelligent and too bored.

“Four, nine, nine, seventeen, twelve, twenty-five, eight, one, thirty-three, twenty-eight, seventeen, thirteen, forty-seven, forty-one, one, thirty-one, four.”

Jim pursed his lips and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “More?”

Spock’s brows lowered. “Negative.”

“And this transmitter thing – will I know it when I see it?”

“Yes.” Spock sounded almost perturbed. “I suppose you will.”

“Okay.” Jim lurched from the mattress and pressed his lips together, silently regarding Spock on his bed. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” Spock asked dryly.

Jim rolled his eyes. “Fuck if I know. Maybe you can stick to the ceiling.”

Spock’s eyes lightened for a brief moment. “I assure you that I can do no such thing.”

“Well, that’s a weight off my shoulders.” Jim ambled from the room, and sent a wave over his shoulder. “I’m gonna put on some clothes. Be back soon.”

It actually went better than expected. Jim brought a flashlight and Gumby, so he felt safe. Not because he had a dog with him – no, Gumby was useless. At least he could smack someone over the head with his flashlight. Jim had already realised that he’d dropped his gun by the vessel, so it was a good thing he’d been sent to go. He wouldn’t want to lose Little Jimmy.

Jim approached the large, silvery egg-looking thing. Just as Spock had mentioned, there was a large pad on the surface – more like a touch-screen, really. Jim placed a finger on it experimentally and it lit up like a dim monitor. Each square was pattered with what looked like curvy hieroglyphics to Jim.

Although Jim would have loved to spend some time analysing the language, he dug back into his mind for the code. Jim’s fingers skimmed over the buttons like he’d been doing it all his life.

The spaceship – a _spaceship_ , fuck yeah! – opened for him, like all mechanical things and females tended to. If there were two subjects Jim knew, it was technology and women.

Except a woman could not make him cum like Jim imagined he could just by _fiddling_ with this beauty. Seriously – holy shit. Everything was so pristine and blue and shiny and beepy and flashing lights and _buttons_ \- oh, how he wanted to push the buttons!

But no, this was a mission, and Jim would stick to it. He inwardly flinched at the smear of green blood across what appeared to be the navigational system – that would explain the egg on Spock’s head. No surprises there, really. The pod was essentially bare, but for something that looked eerily like a glorified mobile phone lying on the floor.

Jim shoved the contraption in his back pocket and allowed himself one last, lingering look at the ship. With a sigh, he slammed the top down and picked up his shotgun. With a click of his tongue to Gumby, Jim made his way home.

He may have been whistling the _X-Files_ tune as he went along.

“Honey, I’m home!” Jim hollered as he kicked the door closed behind him. He toed off his shoes and went upstairs, nearly tripping over goddamn Gumby on his way. That dog would seriously be the death of him, one day. Death by dog – on the stairs.

Jim burst through the bedroom door with a triumphant grin, and tossed it onto the bed where Spock was sitting up. “No need to thank me, I know I’m awesome.”

Spock’s reply was to flick an eyebrow and return his focus to the transmitter. He flipped it open, and began to punch in a series of codes and whatever with his thumb.

Standing there in the doorway, Jim suddenly felt kind of awkward. So, he’d helped an alien – an _alien_! What came after that? This wasn’t _E.T._ He couldn’t feed Spock M &M’s and dress him up for Halloween or anything. Spock was phoning home – but until his buddies arrived, what would they do?

Jim supposed he’d just have to play it by ear. That was what he did best.

For lack of anything better to do, Jim shut the bedroom door. He leaned against the wood and slumped down, until he was sitting on the floor. Spock didn’t look up from his ministrations. Jim found he had the time to really inspect the Vulcan. Not that he hadn’t seen basically _everything_ beforehand, but now he could just _look_.

Spock was undoubtedly beautiful. Jim didn’t really like to use that word for anyone or anything but for his motorcycle, but there it was. He couldn’t exactly argue with the truth. Spock was about as pretty as a man could get without being feminine. He still had the strong jaw and prominent nose, and dangerous eyes. But right now, as Spock hunched over his transmitter with a wrinkle in his brow, and a near-pout playing across his lips – well, _damn_.

Jim yawned, tilted his chin, and leaned his head back. He still gripped his shotgun loosely on his lap. He didn’t realise he’d begun to drift until his head lolled forward, and his glasses fell into his lap. Jim barely noticed when Spock shut off the lights. But he _did_ distantly recognise Spock’s quiet breathing from across the room – and that was nice.

However, an amazing dream revolving around some kind of orgy with Dana Scully, Fox Mulder, Spock, and himself was woefully shattered as a thunderous knocking resounded through the house.

Jim yelped and shot up from the floor; with his eyes wide and unseeing in the darkness of the room. He reached down and scrambled for his glasses. When he put them on, he caught sight of the digital clock – 4:17am.

“What the _fuck_?” Jim’s voice was husky with sleep. He blinked rapidly, finally catching the edge of Spock sitting up on the bed.

The insistent rapping at Jim’s door continued.

“Shit,” Jim muttered, dove for the bed. “This can’t be good. Definitely in the category of ‘foreboding’, I’d say,” he rambled as he gripped Spock’s wrist, and yanked him out of bed.

“What are you –”

“Bathroom, now.”

“Why?”

“Because unless you want to hide in a closet or under the bed, this is the next best option.” Jim took Spock’s silence as an agreement and pulled him into the bathroom, without turning on the light.

“In the tub,” Jim ordered. He didn’t waste any time making sure Spock was comfortable. Jim snapped the curtain across, then shut the bathroom door behind him and ran downstairs.

The knocking grew more insistent. Jim paused in front of the door, and took a centring breath. With a little nod, he opened the door.

“ _Oh_ ,” was all Jim could utter.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, shit. The Smoking Man from The X-Files was here.

Oh, shit. The Smoking Man from _The X-Files_ was here.

Okay, he wasn’t smoking.

And he wasn’t in a trench coat.

But he was old?

But not really.

“Is this your property?” the man in black camo asked mildly.

Jim leaned in the doorway and crossed his arms, refusing entry. “Last time I checked.”

“What’s your name, citizen?”

“Who wants to know?”

The man’s voice went steely. “The United States Army. What is your name?”

“I’m James Tiberius Kirk. Who’re _you_?” Jim inwardly kicked himself – too sarcastic, too obvious.

The stranger gave a moment of pause to that, his eyes squinting briefly.

“Sergeant Pike. Tell me, Mr. Kirk – were you aware of a disturbance at approximately one-hundred hours?”

Jim blinked owlishly, knowing it probably wouldn’t take much effort to con this blockhead into believing he was some dumb-ass farm hick.

Pike coughed and clarified, “One-hundred hours. One in the morning.”

“ _Oh_ , you mean that big ol’ boom?” Jim responded eagerly, imitating his Uncle Frank’s accent. “Somethin’ fell, good ‘n proper in my field! You here t’pay comp’nsation for my damaged crops?”

Sergeant Pike gave him a quiet once-over, before his voice took on an air of resignation. “Did you approach the fallen object, Mr. Kirk?”

Jim scowled. “I ain’t stupid, Sarge! I went t’the edge of the field and that was that. Not gonna bother trudgin’ ‘round that corn ‘til the sun’s shinin’.”

Pike arched a brow slowly. “And you didn’t call the police immediately?”

The guy was sharp as nails; Jim would give him that.

“Well...” Jim smiled sheepishly. “I kinda wanted my face in the local paper, y’know? Figured if I called in the morning, it’d be more fun to take a picture with it in the daylight. Which side you think is better – my right or my left?” Jim presented each side of his face with a flourish, and began to comb back his hair with his hands.

Pike snapped, “What exactly _did_ you see, Mr. Kirk?”

“Um.” Jim dropped his hands and pursed his lips in deep thought. “Somethin’ big and shiny and smoking. It was a weather satellite, wasn’t it Sarge? I hear ‘bout them fallin’ on people sometimes, y’know.” Jim leaned in conspiratorially. “You should get that looked into.”

The Sergeant did not look impressed – very MIB cool. He didn’t even lean away from Jim’s invasion of personal space.

“Have you seen anyone suspicious on your property in the past four hours?”

“What, like – aside from you, and your super-secret black uniforms? Not a soul.”

Narrowed, gray eyes cut at him. “You’re sure about that?”

Jim sighed and threw up his hands. “What d’you expect me t’say, Sarge? You just woke me up in the middle of the night ‘n started questionin’ me about a _weather satellite_. That ain’t my business, crops are.”

“You were sleeping fully dressed?”

“I fell asleep watching Nick at Nite. Gotta love _Mork and Mindy_.”

They both stared each other down for what felt like an eternity. Mostly because Jim was really hungry, and all he could think about was if he’d left a half-eaten bag of peanut M&M’s in the kitchen.

But finally, Sergeant Pike seemed to back down. “Yes, of course. Well, we’ll be removing the satellite ASAP, and I’ll have a couple of men remain in the area until we’re certain the area is secure.”

Alarm bells went off in Jim’s head, but he shrugged. “Long as y’don’t scare my cows.”

Pike aimed a strange, searching look his way, before he firmly saluted and retreated into the darkness. Jim could see the dimmed headlights of several automobiles, and heard the low murmur of tense voices.

Weather satellite. _Ha_! That didn’t even work on television.

As soon as the door was locked, Jim turned to high-tail it back to Spock. At least this time he noted Gumby at the base of the stairs, and had time to leap over the dog on his way up - Olympic medal in the high jump, hell yeah! - okay no, but Jim could dream.

Jim slid down the corridor in his socks and nearly ran face-first into the bedroom door. He ended up bursting through like Cramer from _Seinfeld_ , and he was kind of _very_ glad Spock hadn’t seen it.

Swinging open the bathroom door and flicking on the lights, Jim launched himself into the tub with Spock. The Vulcan blinked at him rapidly, and Jim conspiratorially snapped the shower curtain shut around them – as if that would keep out Army spies? It wouldn’t keep out the Smoking Man.

“The Men in Black are here,” Jim reported, shifting awkwardly in the tub so that his feet were on either side of Spock’s naked hips.

Spock snapped his knees shut, and stared at Jim. “To whom are you specifically referring? Who are the Men in Black?”

“Okay, they’re not exactly MIB, but it’s the _Army_ ,” Jim whispered, leaning in. “They’re all in black, too. Like Special Ops or something.”

“Are you cognisant of what a Special Operations Unit truly consists of, Mr. Kirk?”

“Shut up, and don’t ruin my delusions. All I _do_ know is that _they_ know what’s in my field. Which means _you_ , Spock, are a wanted man – _uh_ , alien.”

Spock was silent for a long moment; apparently deep in thought, as he blankly stared at his thighs.

Jim frowned and slouched back in the tub, hanging his arm over the side. “They’re probably gonna search the house at some point.”

“Your assumption is logical.”

“Maybe a full-body cavity search, too.”

“Implausible.”

Silence descended, and their eyes met warily. Jim chewed on his lip and shrugged.

“Listen... I’m not exactly sure where to you hide you, man. It’s not like my house is full of trap doors and shit. This isn’t _Scooby-Doo_.”

Confusion flitted across Spock’s face, but he nodded. “We face several conundrums.”

Jim nodded soberly back, but kept his words light and optimistic. “None that we can’t handle.”

Spock flicked a brow. “How have you come to that conclusion?”

Jim picked at a hangnail and jerked a shoulder. “We just take the easy stuff first, right? File down the list to something manageable.”

The Dora band-aid was the only thing perking up Spock’s wan visage. Jim wondered if the Vulcan default state was emo-pale, or what. But Spock took a small breath, and Jim thought he looked about as tired as Jim felt.

“Until I am able to devise a more efficient course of action, your amateur plan must suffice.”

“You’re so generous.”

“I do not believe that I am. What is the first order of business?”

A slow smile teased Jim’s mouth, as his eyes drifted from Spock’s face to take in the dark whorls of hair dusting across his chest, and the stiff set of smooth shoulders. Spock must be feeling the chill, and yet it was Jim’s arms which prickled.

“Clothing. I mean, unless you’re channelling the Terminator, and want to be naked in every scene of this movie.”

“ _This_ movie?” Annoyance darkened Spock’s eyes. “Are you suffering from hallucinations, Mr. Kirk?”

“No.” Jim’s sigh was forlorn. “I just always thought it’d be cool if my life was actually like _The Truman Show_ , and one day I realised I was the star of the world.”

“Somehow I do not find it difficult to conceive that you believe yourself to be the permanent centre of attention. Your egotism appears boundless.”

Jim grinned and winked. “Ya got me there.”

“I do not have you anywhere,” Spock icily replied.

“You could have me if you want. That’s an invitation.”

Jim might as well have been making eye contact with the tub faucet, for all the reaction Spock gave him. Seriously – was this guy _really_ the Terminator?

“Are you a robot?”

“I believe we previously established that I am, what humans categorise as, an extraterrestrial.”

“Just checking. You’re not here to kill anyone, are you?”

Spock blinked. “I am certainly not.”

Jim aimed a narrowed look over Spock. “Okay, cool. I guess you clear the list of things I don’t allow in my house.”

“Murderers and robots?”

“That, and Girl Scouts. I don’t trust their little freckled faces.”

Spock’s gaze flitted towards Jim. “You have sparse freckling.”

“Yes, because it’s totally _not_ creepy that you’ve noticed that.” But Jim’s cheeks were heating. “Do you want clothes, or not?”

“I would appreciate –”

Spock froze.

Jim sat up, and his hands went to Spock’s knees as he scooted forward. “What – what is it, Spock?”

But Spock was already up and out of the bath, and dashing into the bedroom. Jim followed clumsily, and nearly knocked himself out on the showerhead as he leapt to his feet - he really _was_ destined to die in his bathroom ala _Psycho_ , wasn’t he?

A splintering _crack_ in the bedroom alerted Jim to Spock on his knees, yanking up an ancient floorboard.

“What the _hell_ , man?” Jim hissed in a stage whisper – as if the MIB were in the room right now, or something. “That’s my floor! Like, I walk on that on a day-to-day basis, and gaps aren’t exactly ideal on what is meant to be a flat surface. I don’t know if you guys love walking on potholes or something wherever the hell you came from, but it’s not cool here.”

He was still being ignored. Jim flailed his arms. “I will turn you the hell in _right now_ , naked or not.”

It was then that Jim noticed Spock’s transmitter lying beside his kneeling form. Once Spock had bent back the end of the floorboard, he snatched the contraption and –

Broke it into several pieces.

Jim gawked as Spock dismembered one of the sexiest examples of technology he had ever seen (seriously, if Jim could have sex with a phone...), and placed them under the plank.

With little exertion, Spock pressed the wood down and slammed the nails in place with the side of his fist. The board was a bit wobbly after Spock’s _Hulk-Smash!_ moment on it, but once more, Jim’s floor looked very... floory. So that was a plus.

“Okay, um – what the hell is going on?” Jim sputtered, and tugged off his glasses to rub at his tired eyes.

He was used to going without sleep for long periods of time – World of Warcraft was addictive, okay? – but this night was ridiculous. What with aliens in his back yard, and the military scouring his property, and naked dudes giving him an Extreme Home Makeover – yeah, he was basically surviving on very little rest, and even less explanations.

And Spock was _not_ helping, because now he was silently stalking around Jim’s room and closing curtains, and he really didn’t seem to care that Jim could totally see that amazing ass – not that he was looking, because he’d very honourably left his glasses off, and hooked them in his shirt collar. Spock was just a very sexy blob at this point, and that was _definitely_ for the best.

Jim felt annoyance spark. He whistled sharply, like a master calling his dog. Incidentally, the sound of Gumby’s nails scraping manically across the hardwood floor downstairs indicated the dogs impending arrival.

“Hey, _you_ , Jolly Green Giant – listen up. You’re staying in _my_ house, and I think it’ll be in our best interests if you explain to me exactly what you’re doing. Because right about now it’s no skin off my back if I let those guys know I’m housing one of Santa’s real-life elves, all right? It’s my way, or the highway.”

Spock’s gaze drilled into Jim’s, and his face and shoulders looked fashioned from steel. “I can only assume that as the military is suspicious of my existence, they will be sweeping the area for radio signals on all frequencies.”

Jim hummed in acknowledgement, and ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, right – gotcha. Distress signal’s gonna haveta wait.”

With the gears in his head turning and mulling and rolling, Jim wandered towards his closet doors and yanked at one of the handles. He wasn’t exactly messy, but he wasn’t particularly neat; so it came as a pleasant surprise when a miniature avalanche of pungent clothing did _not_ heave forward onto his feet. Jim did a mental victory dance as he arbitrarily yanked a flannel shirt from a hanger, and grabbed a pair of jeans and clean boxers for Spock.

“Hey, Spock?”

Spock accepted the clothes offered to him with a dubiously winged brow. “Yes?”

Jim turned to face the closet and put his glasses back on.

“Maybe I’ve spent too much of my life watching the Sci-Fi Channel – and I know you _crashed_ here and all – but don’t you have some sort of mission on Earth? I mean, you don’t just arbitrarily land on a planet. You may be able to travel through space at warp or whatever tech you might use, but everything is still huge distances apart.”

He was met with silence, and a rustling of clothes. Jim pressed on with a frown Spock wouldn’t be able to see. “You _were_ in our orbit, weren’t you? What was your _actual_ mission before you crashed?”

When Jim turned, it was to find Spock concentrating hard at the floor. Jim opened his mouth, but a jarring clatter of fist to wood cracked the moment into mayhem.

Their eyes met in tandem, and Jim was whispering, “Hide, hide!” while dashing from the room without a look back. He knew that wasn’t a very specific request, but hell, it didn’t seem like they were going to make it out of this one so soon, anyway.

“Coming!” Jim hollered, as he rushed downstairs. Adrenaline pumped hot though his veins, and flushed his cheeks and brightened his eyes. Despite the apparent peril of him and Spock’s situation, Jim found that he had to tamp down the grin that threatened to break his hassled facade.

Come on – _no one_ could deny that this was barrels more fun than spending the night watching an Iron Chef marathon (and that was _a lot_ of fun, okay).

Jim barely had time to crack the door open, before swarms of black-clad officers spilled through like angry ants. With a perturbed, “Woah there, G.I. Jane,” Jim took a hasty step back and fisted his hands at his sides, as he surveyed the silent precision with which his house was searched.

Sergeant Pike was last to step into the foyer, with his stride calm and assured before he paused beside Jim. They exchanged suspicious looks, and it was Jim’s glare that coloured his face now.

“I’m pretty sure I have rights protecting me from this bullshit, Sarge.”

“Try and bring it to court, son.”

“I’m not your son,” Jim hissed, but he remained still. He couldn’t even flick his eyes to the stairway, which several men had taken up. “Unless you’re Uncle Sam himself, and even then that makes me your nephew, if anything. What exactly are you looking for?”

Pike blinked, and appeared as if he repressed a smile for a moment. “We looked you up – necessary procedure. It seems as though you’re far more intelligent than I gave you credit for, Mr. Kirk.”

Their exchanged looks clearly illustrated that they both knew the hick act wouldn’t last anymore.

“Most people are. What does that have to do with anything?”

Pike folded his arms over his chest, and searched Jim’s purposefully blank expression. “A genius-level repeat offender, who doesn’t go poking around when an unidentified object crashes in their backyard? That’s a thin story, Mr. Kirk.”

It really was. Brain fart on Jim’s part.

“All right, all right, old man – I barely saw it from afar, okay? What’s the big deal?” Jim replied breezily. He considered Pike’s unflinching demeanour with a wariness that Jim didn’t show. “I looked, it was dark – I saw a big silver thing, then I went home. I still wanted my picture in the paper. Have you _seen_ me? Does my file mention that I was child model – you can tell, can’t you?”

Pike considered him in such a curious way, that it had Jim struggling not to shove his daddy issues in a sack and beat the Sergeant over the head with them.

Jim rolled his eyes. “You know, you’re making a bigger deal of this than necessary. Is drama an extra elective in Super Army Soldier School?”

“Are you finished, Mr. Kirk?”

“Never.”

 _Clear!_ came from upstairs, and Jim’s shoulders sagged slightly with the relief. Maybe Spock _could_ stick to ceilings, after all.

Sergeant Pike looked doubtful, but his piercing whistle resounded through the house. Everyone – including Gumby – regrouped and headed out the front door.

“Gumby, hey!” Jim slapped at his thighs at the entrance of the door. “You’re not joining the Army – get back here.”

“You’re not out of the woods yet, Mr. Kirk,” the sergeant quietly warned from behind.

Jim knelt to ruffle his wiggling dog’s ears. He nuzzled his face into the scruff of Gumby’s neck. “Lucky I’m a good survivor, then.”

Now was probably not a good time to have a Destiny’s Child song stuck in his head. _I’m a survivor, I’m gon’ make it..._

Jim cleared his throat from the giggle that rose, and stood. He faced Pike with hands on hips, and inclined his chin to steadily meet the Sergeant’s eyes. “I don’t think this is working out between us, Sarge. You’re just too serious and overbearing for me. I mean, coming into my house in the middle of the night, in search of my secretive lover? That’s a bit much. We should probably end it here and now. I hear the Army has plenty of options. You’ll get over me, if only a little.”

Pike give him a final lingering, narrowed look, before he departed from the porch without a salute. With the pastels of early morning seeping across the horizon, Jim watched the dark, distant Hummers rev to life and set off in a long, imposing line.

Jim flicked them off.

“Assholes.”

Then he remembered Spock.

“Crap.”

Jim rocketed up the stairs, flinging himself into his bedroom.

“Spock?” he called, dropping down to check under his bed – and, consequently, inhaling two weeks of dust. Jim came up sputtering and smacking himself on the nose, to get a dust-bunny off.

That was pretty much when Spock’s feet caught on the ledge of an open window, and he levered himself in from his hold on the roof gutter. He caught a nice glimpse of Jim essentially slapping himself, before the extra presence in the room came to Jim’s attention.

Jim yelped and leapt to his feet, still sniffling pathetically.

“Spo – _choo_!” he sneezed helplessly –

Right in Spock’s face.

They both stared at each other – Spock looking very close to strangling Jim, and Jim trying very hard to look apologetic, when he really just wanted to laugh.

“Ah – uh – sorry,” he mumbled with a hiccup of restrained mirth.

“Excuse me,” Spock said between his teeth, and turned on his heel for the bathroom. This really wasn’t his night.

Jim grimaced as he heard the water running. “Did you hide on the roof?” he called through the door.

After a pause, Spock quietly replied, “Indeed.”

“Good one.” Jim must have been exhausted not to have thought of that – but from his window, that was almost an impossible climb for a mere human. He wasn’t Spiderman; although apparently Spock was.

“Your dwelling provides very little options.” Spock came back into the room and sat on the edge of the bed, with what Jim might have imagined was a wince. “I would not be so foolish as to seek refuge beneath a bed.”

“ _Ha_ – ha,” Jim said sourly, but he was grinning. Their gazes held for a warm moment, before Jim’s stomach made itself known with a burping growl. Jim had to restrain the urge to say, _feed me Seymour!_ He managed – somehow.

Instead he said, “You hungry too? Or do you like, eat from your hands or something? Or do you eat? _Oh_ oh,” Jim exclaimed, ignoring Spock’s open mouth, “Or do you feed off the sunlight? That would explain why you’re green. Do you use photosynthesis? Are you part plant? Oh my god, do you ever –”

“Mr. Kirk,” Spock interrupted sharply, with his lips tight. “I consume food in the same fashion as a human. And to answer your seventh previous question, yes, I require sustenance.”

“... Light sustenance?”

Spock blinked once. “No.”

“Okay, well, I tried.”

“You certainly did.”

Jim offered a bright smile that morphed into a yawn. He turned towards the doorway, and shoved his glasses atop his head. “Follow me if you want to live.”

“Pardon me?”

“What – oh. It’s a line from _Terminator_. Never mind.” Jim meandered into the hall, expecting Spock to follow. “I just meant food was this way.”

“You utilise an unfamiliar form of English,” Spock noted from behind him, as they head down stairs.

“Not really.”

“You would benefit from speaking in a logical manner.”

“Well, it all makes sense in _my_ head, and that’s all that really matters to me.”

“An inefficient form of communication.”

“Yes, teacher,” Jim replied with a hefty sigh, as he waved Spock into the expansive cream and yellow kitchen. The cabinets and wall paint had faded by sun and time, but there was a lingering warmth to the room that made Jim more comfortable here than anywhere else in the house – unless you counted in front of a computer.

“Um,” Jim began, and stuck his head in the fridge, while Spock efficiently shut the curtains. “I haven’t been shopping in... a while. I can make pancakes. Do you like pancakes? We’re having them.”

Spock stood in the centre of the kitchen – he might as well have been naked for how comfortable he looked. Thankfully he wasn’t, or they’d be choking down burnt breakfast instead.

Jim smiled, taking pity on the poor guy. It had been a long day. It was dawn, and they’d slept only a handful of hours. “Have a seat, Spock. Relax. You’re under house arrest until whatever lackeys Pike has left to watch us have fucked off. You might as well get used to it. Let me cook – I’m not great, but I can make a pancake without setting off the fire alarm.”

Dark, doe-eyes flicked between Jim and the small, round dining table; as he nodded and sat stiffly.

Gathering ingredients from here and there, Jim hummed a Queen song under his breath, and let Spock be – if just for a moment. Jim wasn’t a fan of silence; too much prevailed over his life, and Jim didn’t particularly enjoy being left with his thoughts.

Tonight had been the first night in over ten years in which Jim had not fallen asleep with the television or radio on.

When four pancakes slowly puffed up on the griddle pan, Jim faced Spock and leaned his hip on the counter. “So...”

Spock stared at him blankly.

Jim chewed on his lip, distracted slightly by an itch between his shoulder blades. “I feel like this should be a sitcom or something.”

“Sitcom?”

“Like, a T.V. show.”

“I see.”

“Actually, you kind of remind me of C3P0, but not gay.”

Spock’s brows shot up. “Should I recognise the being you are referring to?”

Jim poked at his pancakes with a spatula and flipped them, pleased with their golden colour. Take _that_ , Aunt Jemima.

“Uh, _yes_? He’s only one of the most famous androids ever.”

Spock got that crinkle above his nose that was actually way too adorable for an adult. “Androids do not exist on Earth.”

“He doesn’t exist on Earth. He’s from space.”

There was a definite hint of incredulity to Spock’s voice when he uttered, “Space? Humans have not explored beyond their solar system. How have you come across this knowledge of androids?” he demanded regally.

“From _Star Wars_ , obviously,” Jim replied. He itched to mess with the pancakes before they were finished.

“What?” Spock snapped, clearly nearing the end of his rope with this line of conversation. “Am I to gather you are speaking of a fictional character from a work of film?”

“One of the greatest film series of all time, yeah. Minus the one with Jar Jar Binks - oh my god, I wanted to smother him in his sleep. And also young Anakin, like, cried all the time, and I kind of wanted to punch him in the mouth. But other than that, they’re a must-see. I can’t believe you haven’t watched ‘em.” Jim caught Spock’s severe look and grinned. “Okay, I can believe it – but still. We should have a marathon together.”

Spock didn’t agree or disagree, which Jim took as assent. It was nice to have someone around to watch movies with, or talk to (read: talk _at_ , in most cases), or just hang out with.

Okay, ‘hanging out’ had consisted of bullet wounds, naked aliens, sleeping with a gun, soldiers invading in the night, roof-hiding, and another guy wearing his clothes and sleeping in his bed and getting _pancakes_ made for him (which Jim just didn’t do for anybody), while the sun rose in golden pink.

Still, it felt nice. And it had only been a day – less than a day.

Jim plated the pancakes and set them on the table; turning away to gather two glasses of orange juice and forks and syrup. Spock ended up eating his plain, but Jim drowned his poor pancakes in delicious liquid sugar and happily dug in.

He finished long before Spock did; who ate like an extra straight out of a BBC historical film. All delicate and precise and stuff. Head bowed slightly, Jim could stare at the thick, inky crescents of Spock’s lashes catching the dim light of the sun. His ears were impossible to stop staring at, now that Jim had nothing better to do. They looked carved from marble – not real at all, and definitely better than anything Maybelline could ever invent. The pale, sage pallor reminded Jim of the green Connemara marble of one of his mother’s old family brooches.

Jim hadn’t realised he’d reached out and softly brushed his fingertips over the velvety peak, until Spock jerked back with a narrowed glower. His sharp gaze scanned Jim’s features, as if grasping for answers.

Jim slumped back in his chair, and fiddled with his fork, “Sorry,” he apologised, sounding anything but. “I just can’t get over –” he waved his hand to encompass Spock. “All of this. _You_. You’re so... cool.”

Spock nodded, his eyes flitting to Jim’s hands. “I acknowledge your inevitable fascination with my anatomy, but please refrain from physical contact unless completely necessary. Our culture values privacy.”

Jim gave the thumbs up and a grin. “Gotcha. No touching. I’ll try my best, but no promises. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m not actually perfect.”

“I do not find that difficult to comprehend at all,” Spock replied without hesitation.

“Hey now!” Jim lightly kicked Spock’s shin under the table. “I’ve only made like... _one_ mistake in the epic history of my life, all right?”

“I am dubious to inquire, but I find that curiosity has prevailed. What was your single mistake?”

“Eating all of my Halloween candy in one night.”

Spock flicked a brow. “That is hardly a notable error. I was under the impression that the average Earth child was a particularly illogical being.”

Jim leaned his elbows on the table and considered Spock with a slow smile. “It happened last year.”

“Oh.”

“On the plus side, I didn’t leave it on top of the fridge, forget about it for a year, and then eat it even though the chocolate was sometimes this weird white, dusty colour. Like a ghost chocolate.”

Spock cleared his throat and stood. He looked down at Jim – and yes, he definitely looked somewhat perturbed. “I require further rest for optimum efficiency.”

Jim’s smile widened as he looked up. “All right. Good morning, Spock.”

“Good morning, Mr. Kirk.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was nothing like a little Queen to keep a person company as they shovelled horse shit.

There was nothing like a little Queen to keep a person company as they shovelled horse shit.

Jim flicked his iPod to ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ and headed into the dewy morning. Aside from the tire tracks on his lawn, and the slap-happy edge of hysteria tickling the back of his brain, Jim could almost forget that he had an alien concealed on his humble family farm.

Saying ‘crazier things have happened’ was basically obsolete. Jim was fairly certain that _nothing_ crazier could happen.

Oh great, now he probably jinxed it. There was no doubt now in his mind that things _would_ grow even more insane. It was going to happen. Somehow. Jim was going to be hijacked with absurdity and madness.

“I wanna make a supersonic man outta you! Don’t – stop – me nooow!” Jim belted out with emphatic hip motions as he half danced, half swaggered towards the barn.

Spock might get to sleep, but a farm didn’t run itself. Jim tended to start work with the sun.

There had been a time in which Jim had spited this kind of manual labour - not that he was averse to the physical strain, or anything. It had been the implications of the Kirk farm itself that had rubbed Jim the wrong way.

Dad had invested his life in these fields, this soil, and the animals. Up until Jim’s birth and the crash, they’d made ends meet comfortably; but they hadn’t lived like kings. Their very existence had revolved around the next harvest.

When Dad died and Jim was born, and things went all soap opera dramatic and shit, life got real hard, real fast.

Jim had been pouring his blood, sweat, and tears into this land since he was old enough to pick up a shovel. Unfortunately, his active and easily distracted mind had constantly rebelled in tenfold, and had made it difficult for him to wholly enjoy farm work. He much preferred books and numbers and a challenge.

Oh well. Tough shit.

“Don’t – stop – me nooow! If you wanna have a good time, just gimme a caaall!”

Jim strutted past the chicken coop and screeched to a halt. Two figures clad in black camo were blatantly staring at him from the opposite side of the wire fence. They weren’t even checking him out in the good way, like: _Oh man, his voice is awesome – why isn’t he on American Idol? Do you think he’s a model?_

Not even the cool way. Just kind of appraising him with Spock-like robot faces.

Jim’s eyebrows slowly rose, as he plucked one bud from his ear and let it hang loosely over his flannel shirt. He hooked his thumbs in the loopholes of his jeans and rocked on his heels.

“Howdy,” he drawled. “What brings you here?”

The officers exchanged looks, as if wondering how stupid Jim could get, considering it was _obvious_ why they were here.

Jim didn’t particularly care. These guys were on _his_ property, and he could make them as unnecessarily uncomfortable as he pleased.

One of the officers – the younger of the two, with hair shaved down and his eyes huge – cocked his head. His accent was vaguely Slavic or something. He kind of sounded like Colossus from the X-Men, actually.

“We are on patrol.”

Jim looked doubtfully between the pair, then to the chickens and back. “Patrolling the... chickens? Did they have something to report to you? Is the sky falling?” He grinned. “Well, I guess, yeah, a piece of it did.”

Met with more silence, Jim’s grin sharpened. Holding onto the flimsy fence, Jim leaned forward and pretended to peer into the coop entrance.

“Or did you think that someone might be hiding in here? Looks pretty empty to me.” He stood straight and smiled broadly.

A good gauge of Jim’s level of Pissed Off tended to link with the amount he smiled.

“So, are you enjoying my farm?”

“We’re just doing our jobs, Mr. Kirk,” the older of the two replied calmly.

“Please, call me Jim. And you are...?”

“Private Sulu.”

“Sulu, huh?” Jim pursed his lips. “Well, I have a plan of action for you, Sulu. If you’re gonna hang around my farm, scaring my animals – or, y’know, interrogating them for information or whatever – why don’t you help out? Shovel some shit, feed some chickens. That kind of thing.”

The younger guy actually looked like he was going to jump on the opportunity. Kid must be bored as fuck just walking around the perimeter of a cornfield.

Sulu knocked the back of his hand lightly against his partner’s shoulder. “No thanks, Jim. I enjoy my job. So does Private Chekov.”

Jim shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He made as if he was going to leave, but then spun back around on his heel.

“Oh! So, what _are_ you guys patrolling for, anyway? I mean, it was just a weather satellite that crashed, wasn’t it - and you removed it from the field? Your job should be done here, shouldn’t it? You’re not looking for _someone_ , are you?”

Private Chekov almost squirmed. “We are not at liberty to discuss.”

Jim scratched his head and bit back a laugh. “Right. Okay. So, it’s not anything serious, but the Army’s just decided to chillax around my house for a while? That makes sense. It’s not like I’m required to know what you guys are up to, but I think the local news would _definitely_ be interested.”

Chekov’s face grew red, and Sulu’s eyes narrowed. Jim rambled on. “Riverside doesn’t get much attention, y’know? This would be great for publicity. Oh!” Jim snapped his fingers, as if he’d just had a brilliant idea. “I could probably pass this off as like, I dunno, a UFO or something.”

Jim’s eyes widened and he leaned in an iota. His voice went to a mock whisper. “You don’t think it was _aliens_ , do you?”

Chekov inhaled sharply. Sulu bumped Chekov’s arm with an elbow. “We need to be moving on now.”

“Of course, please go.” Jim gave a cocky salute as the two scuttled off – no doubt to report to their superiors that the crazy reclusive genius was threatening to bring the media into this if they didn’t get the fuck off his property.

“If you’re looking for any manual labour later, I’ve got plenty over here!” Jim called after them cheerfully. “You guys are real good with bullshit – horse shit’s not much different!”

Only when Jim was alone did he allow himself a moment to clench his fists, and forcefully bank down the flare of aggression that licked at his heart. Had he still been living with Sam – hell, had it been two years ago – Jim would’ve flailed a punch and hoped for the best. He wouldn’t have considered the consequences of his actions, as long as it had gotten those Army assholes off his property.

This was his _home_. This was his Fortress of Solitude, okay? His Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters. No one was just going to tromp all over the only place that ever meant anything to him, in search of an alien they seemed unsure even existed.

But since that wasn’t the case – Sam hadn’t visited home for five years, and Jim had long ceased fighting his responsibility when he’d emerged from the angsty, hormonal teenage years – Jim simply watched Chekov and Sulu walk away with gritted teeth.

The best he could hope for was that the Army became disinterested enough with Jim’s apparently boring life, and fucked right off.

But putting the situation out of his mind – this was a waiting game and nothing more – Jim set about his morning chores to the badass tunes of Freddie Mercury. Exhaustion dragged at Jim’s limbs, and his head felt like a concrete block. But getting his muscles moving, the blood flowing and the sweat dripping let him zone out for a time.

The sun was nearing its zenith when Jim finished up and headed back inside. He shivered as the thin sheen of sweat on his forearms went cold in the breeze. Autumn was coming, which was kind of awesome. Halloween, and candy, and girls in slutty (sluttier?) costumes, and candy, and Joanna dragging him trick-or-treating – and had he mentioned the _candy_?

Jim fed Gumby - who had some kind of epileptic fit on the kitchen floor in response to the sound of the can-opener - and then quietly padded upstairs. He didn’t want to wake up Spock. If the guy was experiencing anything similar to Jim, he felt like the living dead.

Actually, Spock kind of resembled a vampire in some ways. Going by Twilight standards: The paleness and brick-like personality.

Did that make Jim Bella?

 _Oh God, no._

And that was kind of unfair to Spock, anyway, because he _did_ make Jim laugh – even if it clearly wasn’t Spock’s intention. That kind of made him all the more hilarious.

Jim stripped off his clothes in the guest bathroom and left them in a heap on the floor. He showered and came out, with a towel wrapped around his waist. Dripping across the hallway, Jim approached his bedroom door and opened it just a crack.

He peeked in and found himself staring directly into Spock’s eyes. The Vulcan sat on the edge of the bed, still as a statue and unblinking.

Jim flung open the door and ambled in. “Wow, well that wasn’t terrifying or unnerving at all. Seriously, if you don’t make it home you could make millions in the horror movie industry. I can just picture you saying, ‘Come and play with us, Jimmy. Forever – and ever – and _ever_ ’.”

Spock didn’t reply, and Jim wasn’t expecting him to. Jim dug through his closet and unearthed a pair of slim black jeans and a gold t-shirt. He barely remembered to grab a pair of boxers before he turned to leave the room again.

A book on Spock’s lap caught his attention. Jim paused, frowning down at the open photo album. A picture of his mom, dad, and Sam smiled up at Spock. Jim’s gut clenched.

“Where did you find that?” Jim asked quietly, his speech unusually precise.

“I discovered it upon your shelving unit.” Spock’s thoughtful eyes reached Jim’s. “What is the purpose of such a book?”

Jim frowned. “What do you mean what’s its purpose? It’s a photo album. You put pictures in it.”

“That was not my query. What is the practical function?”

“To preserve memories, I guess. Vulcans don’t have photo albums?”

“They do not,” Spock replied definitively. “I cannot comprehend why one would be necessary.”

Jim stared at Spock for a long moment, before he sighed and sat beside him. Jim’s towel was going to soak through the comforter, but whatever. He pressed his arm against Spock’s as he leaned in and placed a fingertip above his dad’s head.

“That’s my dad. I never knew him, so it’s kind of nice to have pictures of him around.”

“Why?”

“Obviously it’s because we look alike, and I like to show off how genetically gifted my entire family is,” Jim replied automatically.

The crease in Spock’s forehead deepened, and Jim jerked a shoulder. “Just, it’s good to see him there. It’s a tangible aspect of my past that I can hold on to.”

“The nuances of human pathos escape me, unfortunately.”

Jim was fairly certain that this was Spock’s way of saying ‘ _What the hell are you talking about, silly Earthling_ ’.

“Look,” Jim began impatiently, “if your mom died or whatever, wouldn’t you want something to remember her by besides your own memory?”

Spock was silent for a long moment. His thumb brushed over Sam’s face. “I concede to your paradigm of thought,” he replied soberly.

Jim rolled his eyes. “I don’t really care one way or another. You’re the one who was nosing around and asking questions.”

“Do you live alone?”

Well, _that_ was from left field. “Aren’t you going to buy me a drink first?”

At Spock’s blank look, Jim couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, I live alone. Aside from my loyal boyfriend, Gumby. We’re very close.”

Spock’s eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “You are having relations with your –“

“Oh my god – gross, Spock!” Jim grabbed the nearest object – the boxers on his lap – and flapped Spock in the face with them. “I’m not dating my dog, it was a joke! You’re a sick, sick Vulcan, do you know that? _No_ – my answer is plain no!”

Spock batted Jim’s hands and boxers away, with his mouth pulling into a miniature scowl. “Once again I implore that you speak candidly. Your dialect remains unpleasant and perplexing.”

Jim bit back a grin. “I’ll pass, thanks. You’re on _my_ planet. Get used to it.”

“Your manners leave much to be desired.”

“That’s what my mama always said.”

“Is your mother also deceased?”

Wow. The guy was straightforward. Jim would give him that. In fact, Jim welcomed it.

“She lives out of town,” Jim hedged. If Spock couldn’t compute the emotions behind a simple photo album, it was unlikely that he was going to be able to comprehend the reasons behind Mom’s condition. Jim would save Spock the headache.

Spock considered the photos upon his lap. “Why do you choose to reside in such a large facility when you are alone? Would it not be financially logical to sell this farm?”

Something clamped down in Jim. “How’s your ass?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “The wound is healing sufficiently.”

“Are you sure? I could look at it for you – and no, this is not an excuse to ogle your butt.”

“I would not assume as such. I do not require your assistance, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim laughed and stood. “We’re on a first name basis, Spock. I’ve seen you buck-naked.”

Spock didn’t look particularly pleased with this recollection, if the length of his silence had anything to say about it.

Jim peered down at the towel that hung precariously around his hips. He met Spock’s expressionless stare with a twinkle in his eye. “You wanna even the score?” Jim reached for the knot at his hip.

Spock shut the album with more force than necessary and stood.

“No,” he replied sharply and exited the room.

Jim could only laugh after him, and get dressed with a grin on his face.

 _Cute alien_.

Fatigue gripped Jim’s mind in a slowly tightening vise; but it went ignored as Jim put in his contact lenses, and ran a dab of product through his hair to give him the ‘bed-head’ look.

Jim never knew why it was called that. Whenever _he_ woke up in the morning, one side of his hair was flat as a pancake, and the other side stuck out like he’d been electrocuted in the night. Not really a look that screamed _sexy beast_.

But Jim _knew_ he was ridiculously sexy when he wasn’t lounging around the house in tortoiseshell glasses and holey sweatpants. By the way, he had _no_ idea how his sweatpants always got holes in the crotch. What on Earth was going on down there when he wasn’t paying attention?

Pleased with his reflection in the mirror, Jim gave himself a roguish grin and headed downstairs. Much to Jim’s surprise, he found Spock sitting at the bottom step. He was tentatively stroking Gumby’s upturned stomach, while the dog’s left leg wiggled in ecstasy.

Spock paused and looked over his shoulder at Jim. The afternoon sun filtered through the window on the staircase landing, and poured over Spock in a way that should be reserved for Disney movies and crummy romance novels. His eyes were almost translucent amber in the light and very... well, human.

Jim inwardly shook himself off and smiled. “Didn’t figure you for the dog type.”

“This canine possesses a surprisingly likable disposition.”

“He takes after me like that.”

“Of this I am doubtful.”

Jim chuckled. “I forgot to ask. How did you sleep?”

“Adequately.” Spock turned back to Gumby and resumed his petting. “Vulcans require three point six Terran hours of repose for full rejuvenation.”

“Nifty,” Jim quipped, brushing against Spock as he sat down beside him. “You guys must have unbelievable sex drives. So,” Jim continued, reaching down to scratch Gumby’s ears. “I need to run some errands. Food. Maybe a pair of jeans for you, because you’re taller than me and look pretty goofy in my clothes.”

“I am not concerned with aesthetics.”

Jim scoffed. “Oh please. The _world_ is concerned with aesthetics. That’s how we operate.”

“Vulcans do not operate in the same fashion as humans. To compare our cultures would be offensive.”

Jim raised his eyebrows and considered Spock. He couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow. Well, it’s comforting to know that there are still aspects of the human about you, Spock. Pride and vanity.”

Spock’s calmly shifted and met Jim’s amused expression. “Vulcans are neither prideful, nor vain.”

Jim snorted a laugh and slapped Spock’s knee. “I’m sorry, but I can’t take this conversation seriously. You’re totally delusional.”

Spock’s spine stiffened. “Pardon me, but do you regard any topic of conversation with sobriety?”

“Life is much too important a thing ever to talk seriously about.”

At Spock’s blank look, Jim cocked his head and grinned. “Oscar Wilde.”

“I am acquainted with the author,” Spock snapped.

“Oh, _gasp_! Are you trying to tell me that you’ve read the works of an inferior human? Scandalous. Did you forfeit an IQ point for every page your eyes doth lay upon?”

Spock’s nostrils flared. “You mock me?”

Jim smiled. “And if I am? Does that _annoy_ you, Spock?” He leaned in and tilted his head, so that their mouths were aligned. “How... _human_ of you.”

“You ridicule –”

Jim smiled unrepentantly and ripped the Dora band-aid from Spock’s forehead. The Vulcan didn’t flinch, but his eyes widened and he quieted. Jim pursed his lips as he inspected the wound. “Man, you guys really do heal quickly. Still, you should wash that and redress it. First-aid kit is upstairs in the bathroom, under the sink.”

“Jim –”

“What foods do you like?” Jim got to his feet and went to the front door to put on his boots.

“Pardon me?”

“Sustenance, Spock. How do you take it?”

“Vulcans are vegetarians.”

Jim looked at Spock mournfully. “I’m sorry. That’s unfortunate.”

Spock looked genuinely perplexed, before the emotion was erased. “Why?”

Jim shook his head and plucked a jacket from the closet. “Poor, sad grass-nommer.”

“May I point out that the majority of nourishment currently in your home is vegetarian?”

“Uh, _duh_. Hence the shopping.”

Jim turned and swung open the front door, preparing to leave. He paused and cast Spock a glance over his shoulder. Spock remained on the stairs, considering Jim in a way that would unnerve an average man. But Jim had never been mediocre on any level.

“I know this whole thing is really, _really_ bizarre, but... I think it’s gonna be all right. It’s just a gut feeling, but if there’s anything in this world that I trust, it’s my instinct.”

Jim’s lips quirked. “Don’t forget - while I’m away, don’t open the door for anyone. Don’t talk to strangers, and don’t accept delicious-looking apples from old ladies, no matter how vegetarian you’re feeling. I might have to be the one to kiss you back to life.”

Before Spock could reply, Jim made his exit.

***

Jim nearly laughed at the scene he walked in on as he entered the living room with his hands filled with grocery bags.

“Um, are you watching Rachael Ray?”

Spock sat primly on the couch, with his posture perfect. His new forehead band-aid was green and sported Swiper the sneaky fox. Spock blinked up at Jim and nodded. “Her speech patterns are nearly as unusual as yours.”

Jim smiled to himself as he headed into the adjoining kitchen, and dropped the bags on the table. “I dunno about that. Like what?”

There was a long pause as Rachael instructed the viewer to ‘eyeball’ a cup of ricotta cheese.

“ _Hellooo_ , Spock? On Earth, when a person begins a line of conversation, they tend to finish it too. What does Rachael say?”

A hushed reply, almost tentative, came from the living room.

“Yummo?”

Jim was nearly forced to put his head between his legs to stop himself from hyperventilating with laughter. Tears blurred his vision as he weakly refilled the fridge. Every once in a while Spock’s voice echoed _yummo_ in Jim’s head, and he was forced into renewed guffaws.

Once Jim had finished giving the kitchen the illusion that someone other than a thrifty bachelor lived there (he wasn’t getting rid of his precious Ramen though), he made his way back to the living room.

He bit back the smile that immediately threatened.

Spock’s expression was tight, his cheeks hot with embarrassment. He looked about as comfortable as Taylor Swift sharing a stage with Kanye West.

“Aw, _Spock_.” Jim went to Spock’s side and sat down, facing him. He had to press his lips together for a moment to keep from giggling. “I wasn’t... I wasn’t laughing _at_ you. I just wasn’t expecting you to say... oh God.” Jim felt a gurgle of laughter bubbling in his throat. “I can’t, I can’t even think about it. Just, okay, I’m calm now. Calm. Breathing.”

If looks could kill, Jim would be gagging on his own tongue right about now. Jim counter-attacked with big puppy-dog eyes.

“I’m sorry?”

Spock’s stare became only minutely less withering.

Jim swallowed. “Um. Oh! I got you clothes. See how great I am?”

“I had not requested any garments, so your actions are unnecessary and unwelcome.”

“Oh, come on now. Don’t huff. I’d say it’s not attractive on you, but I’d be lying.”

“I am not, as you say, _huffing_.”

“Look, I babysit a four-year-old girl. I know pouting when I see it.”

Spock’s eyes darkened. “You equate me with a child.”

“I wouldn’t if you stopped acting like one.” Jim tried his most winning smile. “Seriously, what are we even arguing about anymore? Isn’t it illogical to hold a grudge?”

“I have no idea of what you are speaking.”

Jim beamed and clapped Spock on the shoulder. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about. I’ll go get your clothes in a second. I just need to have a little sit-down.”

Even with two cans of Red Bull flowing in his veins, Jim could only run so long on a few meagre hours of rest. He’d been awake since well before dawn. It wouldn’t hurt to rest his eyes for just a moment.

The quiet murmur of the television and the radiating warmth of Spock’s body beside him lulled Jim into a sense of comfort. With a loud, unbridled yawn, Jim’s cheek made contact with Spock’s shoulder, and sleep took a quick hold. Time was a black void. A pleasant nothingness that so rarely visited Jim, even in respite, cradled him into a deeper slumber than he’d experienced in months.

Upon his slow, dragging wakefulness, Jim was first aware of the smell of Christmas. Cinnamon and fresh, crisp snow and the crackling hearth.

Of course, when he cracked his grimy eyes open it became very clear that he was actually inhaling the crook of Spock’s neck.

Jim groaned and flopped back along the couch, with his head resting on the armrest. The room was dark, indicating the length of time in which Jim had been passed out. The television reflected an eerie blue glow upon Spock’s angular features. His eyes were black and unreadable in the shadows.

“How long’ve I been ‘sleep?” Jim mumbled and rubbed his eyes with his fists.

“Approximately seven point two Terran hours.”

“Jesus. You stayed sitting for seven hours while I slept on you?”

“I did not wish to wake you. I could sense your fatigue.”

Jim swallowed, feeling unusually unnerved. “I think I drooled on you.”

“Charming.”

“My back hurts.”

“That is truly unfortunate.”

Jim kicked off his shoes and rolled to his side. He curled his legs up so that Spock had room to sit at the end of the couch. “Whatcha watchin’?”

“ _Gone with the Wind_.”

“Yeah?” Jim squinted at the screen and a yawn threatened his voice. “I like Scarlett.”

“Truly? I find her character illogical.”

“She’s selfish, but no one’s perfect. She’s independent and sharp. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”

“She is manipulative and immoral.”

“Well, if you don’t like Scarlett, then you’ll definitely enjoy the ending. Stay tuned.”

With that, Jim promptly fell into oblivion once more.

The next time he awoke, it was to the smells of home-cooking and morning light dancing across his eyelids. For a sleep-hazed moment, Jim thought Mom was in the kitchen. Then his brain rebooted, and everything came crashing back.

Jim sat up and scrubbed his hands over his face. His body was still in that place where it was deciding whether or not he felt like shit, or if he felt refreshed. It would probably take an hour for him to figure it out. Despite the years of pre-dawn farm work, Jim was about as much of a morning person as Edward Cullen.

Stumbling into the brightly lit kitchen, Jim was confronted with the sight of Spock.

Spock, dressed crisply in his new clothing – dark blue jeans that clung in all the right places and a black, thermal Henley. His feet were bare on the cold tile, and it was the first time Jim had ever considered feet to be _sexy_.

“Honey, are you cooking breakfast for me?” was about the cleverest thing Jim could muster at this point.

Spock spared Jim the most unimpressed of glances, and continued frying up something that looked like chunky hash browns with peppers and onion and garlic.

Jim’s stomach actually might have done a Xena war-cry for that food.

He meandered up behind Spock and peered around his shoulder, yawning loudly.

Spock shifted away slightly. “Please refrain from yawning into my ear, Jim.”

“ _Mmm_?” Jim was still intent on the concoction in the skillet. “Where’d you learn to make this?”

“I have watched four point four hours of cookery techniques and recipes. I am confident that I can handle a simple meal.”

Jim groaned in Spock’s ear. “Christ, you didn’t fall from space, did you? It was _heaven_. Marry me now. Put your little green babies in me.”

He held up a finger and took a breath. “Speaking of, are you guys born from eggs or what? What’s the average gestation period? Do all the women look as pretty as you – or are they like birds where they’re the ugly ones and the men get to be flashy and gay?”

“ _Sit_ down, Jim.”

Jim promptly skirted the stiff-backed Vulcan and sat. Spock didn’t even look up; he just continued playing the Stepford wife. Maybe they could switch off on making breakfast. Or Spock could _always_ make it, because Jim’s culinary skills ranged from cereal to pancakes.

“So, uh, what _are_ Vulcan women like?” Jim asked, once he noted the tension had eased from Spock’s shoulders. It looked like cooking relaxed the guy.

“That is a broad inquiry with several possible answers.”

Jim slouched back and propped his feet up on another chair. “Well, do you have a girlfriend?”

“Vulcans do not have girlfriends.”

“’Do not have girlfriends’ as in, you’re a race of men who’ve found some no doubt terrifying way to procreate, or ‘do not have girlfriends’ like, you don’t do dating?”

“As you say, we do not _do_ dating.”

“Ah. So, are you married?”

Spock paused; staring into the skillet like it was going to start chatting away to him at any moment. Then he silently found two plates and piled the food atop. When he sat down with their dishes, and saw by Jim’s stubborn expression that he would not let the topic go, Spock flicked a brow.

“The issue is complicated.”

“If Vulcans are _so_ logical, why would they make it complicated?”

Spock looked like he was going to frown. “It is complicated for a human’s comprehension.”

Jim rolled his eyes and dug into his food – which had to have MSG _and_ LSD in it because it was just _that_ delicious (and, somehow, vegetarian – who knew?).

“You need to shut up about the stupidity of humanity, or I’ll _make_ you shut up. By the way, this is _fantastic_. Did you just lie about never having cooked so you could impress me?”

Spock was staring, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Vulcans do not lie, and I experience no wish to impress you.”

Jim grinned. “Lies, all of them.” He shoved a massive hunk of potato and pepper in his mouth.

They ate in companionable silence for the remainder of breakfast. Jim collected his wits enough to note that it was nine in the morning – he _never_ slept that late. He’d been hibernating for like, half a day.

But Jim felt good. Dare he say... _perky_?

Spock finished first and pushed his plate away. Jim noted the leftovers, and scraped them on to his own dish.

“Hey, Spock?”

“Yes?”

“Are you gonna explain to me why Vulcans are stalking Earth in the first place? Considering how much I’m risking by concealing E.T. in my bed, I think I have the right to know.”

Spock’s face was devoid of reaction, but the air had gone still around them.

Jim held his breath –

And yelped when someone rapped at the front door.

Spock and Jim exchanged glances.

Jim groaned and thumped his forehead to the tabletop. “Oh, _come_ on!”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I never thought I’d say this to such a sexy guy, but get in the closet!”

“I never thought I’d say this to such a sexy guy, but _get in the closet_!”

Jim yanked Spock along by the wrist and flung open the coat closet door. He used the essence of surprise, and not strength, to shove the Vulcan in amongst the million jackets he never wore. Spock’s face was just shy of murderous, as an escaped winter glove from the top shelf plopped on his head.

Jim wildly motioned for him to remain silent and slammed the door in his face.

A second round of knocking was interrupted when Jim flung open the door with a broad smile. He’d already guessed who it was.

“Bones!”

“Can it, Meathead,” was all the reply Jim got, as Bones shoved past him with little Joanna in tow. He turned on Jim the second the door lock clicked. “I’m sorry, but it appears I was under the mistaken impression that you understood how _telephones_ worked. Y’know, those infernal contraptions that you talk into, and a magical disembodied voice replies? Not that you’d listen in the first place. Sometimes I wonder if _you’re_ the deaf one here.”

“Has it been a week already?” Jim asked companionably. “I just love our chats. It’s like _The View_ , but only ten times more politically incorrect and racist. And no Rosie O’Donnell – because, let’s face it, that is one lesbian you _don’t_ want to mess with. Chick could break me in half like a Kit-Kat.”

Already ignoring Bones’ sputter of indignation, Jim turned and crouched before Joanna with a warm smile. He held out his arms. “Hey, Hobbit!”

Joanna uttered a tiny squeak and catapulted into his arms, with her messy, dark curls splaying in all directions. Jim laughed and plucked her up, resting her comfortably on his hip. Even though Bones said she needed to grow out of constantly being held, the amount of fuck that Jim cared could fit into a quark.

Gumby sprinted into the room, his paws sliding clumsily across the hardwood floor. He couldn’t stop in time and collided with Jim’s shins. Jim gave him a silencing _shush_ , and snapped his fingers to keep him still.

Bones’ arms were crossed over his chest, and his expression was awfully surly for a guy who was only six years Jim’s senior. It looked like _someone_ needed to relax – or get laid. The latter was actually more preferable. Bones had been basically celibate for, what – three years? Since he came into town with a one-year-old Joanna, and a battered Chevy with his belongings.

“When was the last time you got laid, man?”

Bone’s face grew red as he sputtered. “What the – what does that have to do with _anything_?”

“Because you know Nyota’s been dropping hints like –”

“We are _not_ having this conversation in front of my daughter, you fucktard.”

“Yeah, but you just said fucktard in front of your daughter, so your argument is invalid.”

“What – how – no. No it’s not!” Bones stared helplessly at his wide-eyed daughter, then to Jim’s gloating expression. “She probably didn’t hear it anyway.”

Jim gasped in mock horror. “That’s an awful thing to say about your child, Bones!” He shifted Joanna in his arms and tucked a thick lock of hair behind her ear, exposing a clunky hearing aid. As Jim spoke his pointer finger swept from his ear, to his mouth, to Bones. “Did you hear what your Dad said?”

A wrinkle marred Joanna’s forehead. “Ducktart?” she asked uncertainly.

Jim snorted. “That’s _exactly_ right.”

Bones might has well have been shooting steam out of his ears. “Right,” he snapped, jabbing a finger in Jim’s chest. “Don’t teach her new swears. Don’t break her, sell her, or buy her narcotics. No television – “

“No fun, no laughing, no smiling, or anything that could be construed as an enjoyable day for a four-year old. I got it, Doc.”

Jim got a look of mixed frustration and amusement, before Bones turned to Joanna and placed a warm kiss on her forehead. Joanna giggled and squeaked, “Yuck!”

Bones finally cracked a smile as he left, and backed out the door with a wave. “See ya later, Jojo. Jim, buy a goddamn cell phone!”

The door shut and Jim was left smiling at Joanna. His free hand signed in a free-wheeling, bastardised version of American Sign Language he tended to use. It was basically like his form of speech re-enacted in ASL. “You know what I think we should do?”

Joanna broke out into a toothy grin and placed the tip of her index finger upon her cheek, twisting her hand back and forth vigorously.

Jim groaned and laughed, shaking his head. “ _No_ – no candy! It’s like ten in the morning. Your Daddy would have my balls.”

Before Joanna could pout, Jim perked up. His pinky touched his forehead and pulled up towards the sky. “I have an idea! Would you like to make a _fort_?”

Hazel eyes lit up like Christmas, as Joanna nodded emphatically and attempted to wiggle out of Jim’s hold. Jim brought her to her feet and gestured towards the linen closet down the hall. “Go get some blankets and bring them to the dining room. You know the drill, Hobbit.”

Joanna clamoured down the hall, the soles of her sneakers lighting up in multicolour. Gumby followed with wet snuffling noises of doggy hyperactivity. Jim rushed to the coat closet and cracked it open, peering in. Spock’s expressionless face met his.

Jim bit his bottom lip to keep from laughing. “Hi. So...”

“You cannot assume I will remain inside this compartment for an extended period of time,” Spock whispered tersely.

“No – right, yes... ah, don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

Spock blinked. “My experiences with your strategies are limited, but my ongoing conclusion is that your proposition will be highly illogical.”

“Just shut up and listen.” Jim ducked his head into the closet, their faces close. “Joanna is my best friend’s daughter. She’s four and she’s partially deaf. We speak and use sign language, so it might be difficult for you to communicate with her at fir –”

“I do not suspect that her auditory impairment would cause me foreseeable difficulties. Although you speak as if under the assumption that I will be interacting with this –”

“Wait, do you speak ASL?” Jim leaned further into the closet, more out of excitement than anything.

Spock backed up further, and one hand came between them as if he would push Jim out of his space at any moment. “No, I do not. Vulcans do not implement any form of sign language. I was merely implying that I have the ability to sense her emotions and react accordingly to her wishes, should it be necessary. Which I assume it will not, as the child and I cannot –”

“Sorry, _what_ now?” Jim bounced lightly on the balls of his feet. “Are you saying you’re _psychic_?”

Before Spock could open his mouth, Jim was grinning like a fool and doing a very good impression of his wiggling, excitable dog. “Oh my fucking god, why didn’t you tell me this before? Does this mean you can read my thoughts? I hope not, because then I’d have to _shoryuken_ you. But you’re like Jean Grey, aren’t you? _Right_?”

“I have no idea to whom you are referring.”

“What? No. _No_. You can’t _not_ know the X-Men.” Jim leaned in impossibly close and smiled with deviant glee. “We need to sit down and _culturalise_ you.”

Spock sucked in a breath, and this time his fingertips pressed firmly on Jim’s belly. He pushed. “’Culturalise’ is not a word in any known language, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim stumbled back out into the foyer, with a drunken little grin on his lips. “Words gotta come from _somewhere_ , Spock. You know, ‘Google’ wasn’t added into the Oxford English Dictionary until 2006.”

“As fascinating as that piece of information is, your charge is approaching.”

“Oh!” Jim popped his face into the closet again and whispered, “Follow my lead!” before he shut the door in Spock’s face for a second time. Jim was fairly certain he imagined the groan from behind the wood.

Jim met Joanna half way down the hall and plucked the blankets from her tiny arms. She grinned and sped past, zipping into the dining room.

Really, the only thing the Kirk family dining room had _ever_ been used for was holiday meals and forts. Jim was constantly befuddled by the idea of a room that was meant for eating and nothing more. Like, that’s what kitchen tables were for – and his lap, if he was sitting on the couch.

Apparently his mom had always felt the same, because she was the one who’d begun the tradition of blanket forts. They would pad the floor with cushions and grab one of those electric lanterns; and she, Sam and Jim would camp out in here for hours.

There were still some glow-in-the-dark sticky stars clinging stubbornly to the underside of the table.

When Mom couldn’t _be_ in this home any longer, Jim had been fifteen. Much to the horror of his brother and Uncle Frank, Jim had set up house beneath the dining room table and slept there for five months straight.

Jim hadn’t really done it out of depression, to be honest. Sure, there was that – but being down there evoked memories of happiness. When he opened an old issue of _The Uncanny X-Men_ that he and Mom used to read beneath the eerie green stars, Jim could smile again.

And awesome times like those needed to be shared with as many people as possible. Jim and Joanna dragged the chairs away from the edge of the table, and pushed them randomly against the wall. The blankets, comforters, and quilts came out from various rooms and draped expertly over the top and down the sides. Beyond the thick, heavy curtains were the necessary pillows, reading material, light, and – of course – cookies.

Bones had never specified against cookies.

When the fantastical fort was complete, Jim took Joanna aside and crouched to eye level. Jim’s hands flew about him with the uncharacteristic grace of someone who’d been utilising ASL since he was in grammar school.

“I have a special friend that I want you to meet.”

Joanna’s fingers flew to her mouth. “Who?” she demanded, with the strength of voice that could only have come from her father.

“Well, he’s _very_ shy,” Jim exaggerated with his hands. “But a very nice man. Jojo, do you remember the movies about Narnia?”

Spock wasn’t going to be happy with this.

Joanna nodded and bared her teeth in a whispery roar, miming the lion’s mane with one hand.

“Yes – good! Well, my friend _Spock_ ,” Jim enunciated the word crisply and slowed his spelling of the name, “is from Narnia. He’s a very rare creature and can only come through my coat closet. I think he’ll want to play with us if we’re friendly. Don’t you agree?”

She _had_ to agree. What four-year-old kid didn’t want to meet a mythical being from the back of a closet? Anyway, if she said no, Jim would have to implement Plan B – something that hadn’t exactly percolated yet. As of now, it was a flawless strategy. Spock would hang out with them, and when Joanna told Bones that she’d spent the day with Jim’s pal from Narnia, there was no way the good doctor would believe it.

Problem solved. _Jim, you are amazing_.

Joanna’s reply was to swing around and clatter into the foyer, yelling, “Spock, come out Closet Spock!” She was up against the door, knocking her tiny fists on the wood and bouncing on her toes. “Are you in there?”

Jim sauntered up behind her, all grins. “Yeah,” he pitched his voice over Joanna. “Where are you, Closet Spock? Jimmy’s house is _much_ more fun than Narnia.”

The door cracked open slowly, and Joanna scooted aside. Her head was fully tilted back so she could take in all of Spock, as he cautiously poked his head out and peered down at her. At Joanna’s delighted gasp, Spock flicked an almost worried glance to Jim.

“It’s all right,” Jim assured him, biting back a laugh. “She knows you’re from a mystical land far, far away. Her dad’s _not gonna believe_ the day she’s had.”

Recognition sharpened Spock’s eyes and he nodded in understanding. With a slight swallow that only Jim noticed because he couldn’t take his eyes from Spock – when had that happened? – the Vulcan emerged from the closet and closed the door quietly behind him.

Spock stared mutely down at Joanna, and she stared back, her eyes huge.

Jim felt his own cheeks warm when he realised that Spock was _nervous_. He clearly didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to act around a kid. Jim’s life was starting to feel more and more like a sitcom. Not that he was complaining. It was better than mind-numbing boredom.

“Um,” Jim came up beside Joanna’s better ear, knelt beside her, and put his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. “This is Spock. Spock, this is Joanna.”

Spock said, rather severely, “Greetings, Joanna.”

Joanna’s mouth was literally hanging open. Apparently she’d been rendered speechless, because she could only dumbly wave. It was like meeting Santa or something. Although, hopefully, this wouldn’t end like every Santa visitation of childhood memory – sobbing and terrified and hoping you never had to go near the big, fat guy ever again.

Really, who actually enjoyed sitting on Santa’s lap? No one.

Although Jim _really_ wouldn’t be against sitting on Spock’s lap. Hot damn.

Joanna was tugging on Jim’s hand. With one eye sharp on Spock, Joanna angled her body towards Jim and grabbed his earlobe to wiggle it.

 _Ears_? Oh – ears!

Jim laughed and leaned in conspiratorially. “Yeah, he has cool ears, doesn’t he? Why don’t you tell him? I bet he’d like that.”

Joanna looked to the ground as if deciding this over. But her dad’s nosy influence won out, and she bravely turned to face the towering alien. “I like you ears,” she murmured sweetly.

Spock looked at Jim.

A slow smile spread and tugged at Jim’s mouth, as he recalled Spock’s cool assertion that he would have ‘no difficulties’ communicating with a child.

Good bluff, Spock.

Spock seemed to comprehend the message, and narrowed his eyes for a brief moment. Then he was on his knees in a graceful movement and lightly digging his fingertips into his thighs.

“Thank you,” he replied in a low, warm voice. “I also find your ears to have a pleasing shape.”

 _Oh, really?_ Jim wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut – for once.

Joanna seemed to take that as the formalities being over. She closed both her hands into fists and stuck out her pinkies and thumbs, and began to flail them. “We have a _fort_ , do you wanna play?”

Spock nodded solemnly. “I will join you.”

“ _Yay_!” Joanna squealed and spun around, zipping into the other room. Both Spock and Jim stood in tandem, and Spock slid a meaningful look Jim’s way.

“Is this wise?”

Jim shrugged and walked towards the dining room with Spock, their shoulders brushing. “Sure.”

“You do not appear confident.”

Jim stopped in the entryway and turned to face Spock. With mock sobriety, Jim pointed to himself. “See this face?”

“It would be difficult not to.”

“This is the epitome of confidence. I eat, breathe, sleep, and fuck confidence.”

Spock blinked. “That is an interesting theory, if not completely illogical.”

“Your face is illogical.”

“I – wh –“

“Jojo!” Jim turned and dived under the table. “Make room for us big guys!”

Joanna screamed with glee when Jim made his appearance beneath the blankets. God, this was a way tighter fit than when he was a kid. Jim openly giggled to himself as he placed a pillow up against a table leg and leaned against it. Folding his legs indian-style and slouching against the pillow, his head still pushed hard against the roof, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

Spock followed shortly after, with his face set sternly as he attempted to fold his grasshopper limbs into some semblance of order. He bumped his head more than a few times, sending Joanna and Jim into miniature fits of laughter.

Joanna wrinkled her tiny nose and brushed her forefinger down it twice. _He’s funny_.

Jim grinned in agreement. Spock _was_ funny. The guy would probably have a coronary if he knew, though.

Once they’d gotten ‘comfortable’ , and Spock and Jim were rather – _very_ – close to each other, Jim angled forward, towards Joanna. Jim propped an elbow on his knee and cupped his chin. “What do you wanna do?”

“Let’s play zoo!”

“Zoo?” Jim looked doubtful, but the corners of his lips refused to cooperate. “I’m not sure about that. We don’t have any animals, after all.”

Joanna blew a raspberry, the very picture of an impatient McCoy. “You need to _make_ them – do it!”

Jim gave her a flat look, before he blew out a breath and shook his head. “No manners on this one. Just like your dad. Right, _go_.” Jim waved her out from under the table. “Go get some paper. You know where it is.”

Joanna scampered off, and Jim caught Spock’s eye. The Vulcan was looking at him as if he were a particularly complicated equation.

“What?”

Spock shifted, clearly trying to find comfort where there was none. Their knees pressed warmly together. A tiny wrinkle marred his smooth forehead. “How will you _make_ animals?”

Jim bit down on his bottom lip and smiled. “You’ll just have to wait and find out. Hey – so, how d’you like my fort?”

“This fortification is a highly ineffective example of a defensive work.”

“Yeah, but it’s snuggly, isn’t it?”

Spock looked at Jim as if he’d smelled something awful. “’Snuggly’ is not a word, Jim.”

“Sure it is.”

“That is not a valid argument.”

“Sure it is.”

Spock actually _huffed_ this time; but before the argument could escalate, Joanna was slipping in before them. She tossed sheets of coloured paper at Jim, and he laughed as they scattered across the floor.

“What do you want me to make?” he asked, signing as he spoke. Some days he and Joanna would go entirely without vocalisation, but they were trying to get her out of the habit. She clearly _could_ talk – and Jim, Bones, and Nyota were trying to encourage that as much as possible. Either way suited Jim, personally.

Ever since he’d become close with Nyota in the fifth grade, Jim had been learning and utilising ASL. Nyota’s mother was completely deaf – the entire reason Nyota was a speech and language pathologist _now_ , really – and when Jim had taken her on as official BFF, everything else had come with. Hell, Nyota’s mom was like Jim’s second mother.

Joanna signed _frog_ beneath her chin, and Jim grinned. “Starting off easy, huh?” He grabbed a neon green sheet of paper and chucked aside a pillow for a flat floor work surface.

Then he began to fold.

Origami was another skill he couldn’t credit himself for. Nyota had spent a semester of study in Japan while Jim had remained at home, doing online classes and working on the farm. During their time apart, she’d sent him video emails and packages full of Totoro plushies – they were still sitting on his desk – really worrying yaoi mangas, canned milkshakes that tasted like pancakes – heart attacks in a can – and... origami figurines.

And of course, Nyota being the all-knowing Queen Bee that she was, understood that Jim wouldn’t be content with just _having_ origami. He liked to take things apart – learn how they work, and how to do it himself. So she sent him videos of her folding origami, essentially teaching him how to do it too.

Naturally, Jim had to take it too far. Nyota learned that the hard way, when she received an origami penis in the mail.

Origami was a skill that Jim had come to treasure. There was something therapeutic about turning something plain and simple into an extraordinary piece of art. The familiar folds and angles and lines anchored Jim’s usually chaotic mind, and centred him.

Whenever Jim’s mother would have a bad day, or week, or upsetting bout of depression, Jim would give her a paper crane crafted from whatever paper he could find. Christmas wrapping paper, newspaper, receipts, post-it notes, old comic books, magazine sheets, junk mail, CD covers pulled from their plastic jewel cases – whatever. In turn, Mom’s ceiling was decorated with hanging cranes of every size and style.

They reminded Jim that a person’s problems didn’t have to weigh on them. One could lift them up, put them over their head, and keep on walking. Just let everything fly away.

“There!” Jim pressed on the butt of the frog, and it sprung up in a great leap towards Joanna. She squealed and clapped, then reached out to snatch it up in her tiny palm. While Joanna entertained herself with bouncing the frog around, Jim quickly folded up a pink crown for her as well.

A lot of this stuff looked complicated, but at the end of the day it was easier than people made it out to be. Jim thought life was kind of like that, too.

“And a crown for you, m’lady.” Jim settled it atop her frizzy hair, and Joanna beamed.

Jim angled towards Spock, who had been awfully silent, even for him. “What can I make for you, Spock?” Jim leaned in with a smile and a sparkle in his eyes. “Anything in your wildest dreams.”

Spock raised a brow. “There is no practical use for a folded sheet of paper.”

Unfazed, Jim pursed his lips and decided. “You want a surprise. I gotcha.”

Jim took a sheet of gold and sharply folded over one of the long edges. Gently and precisely, he ripped off a thin, ribbon-like strip of paper. With his bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration, Jim began the delicate folding process. Half way through, he glanced up to check on Joanna, but instead his eye was caught by Spock.

Spock – who was staring at Jim’s hands with blackened eyes and barely parted lips. Jim frowned, looking between Spock and his hands. As if finally noticing that Jim had paused, Spock’s gaze snapped up to Jim’s.

“Ah...” Jim swallowed, and his throat was suddenly tight. And since when had his heart decided to hula-hoop in his chest?

Without saying another word, Jim ripped his attention from the eye contact that Spock wouldn’t break – guy would win a staring contest with a statue – and finished his origami.

Jim murmured quietly, “Hold out your hand.”

Spock did so without question, his long fingers unfurling all pale and perfect. Jim placed his loosely fisted hand atop Spock’s – so hot, so hot, _Jesus what is breathing_ – and Jim let go of what he was holding.

A tiny gold star tumbled into Spock’s palm, and Jim reluctantly removed his hand.

“I thought you might be homesick, so – yeah – _space_. Stars. In a galaxy far far away, and stuff.” _You’re rambling._ “I’m rambling. That’s never a good sign. I didn’t even eat sugar today, so I’m not exactly sure why this is happening. Sometimes I can’t turn off my brain – not that you can turn off brains, because then you’d be dead, but well – not _you_ , exactly. You might be able to turn off your brain for all I know. I don’t know. I’m just saying that –“

“ _Jim_.”

Jim blinked as if he’d been slapped. His mouth worked around words that didn’t come for a moment. “Yes?” he squeaked.

Spock’s eyes were flooded with warmth – there was nothing alien about him right now. “Thank you for the gift.”

“Right. Yes. It’s not really a gift. If it rains and it’s in your pocket it would, like, probably melt. I don’t know.” Jim rubbed the back of his neck anxiously, wanting to be done with this. He didn’t do... whatever _this_ was. In fact, he wasn’t even going to give _that_ enough thought to give it a proper name. From now on it would just be called That Spock Thing.

 _Augh_. The fact that It got a name made It important – gave It meaning. Damn.

“Joanna?” Jim turned to the little girl, who was currently trying to hide the frog in the mass of her hair. “Do you want me to make you a cat?”

“ _Yeah_ \- do it now!” Joanna demanded, and everything returned to normal. Whatever _normal_ was.

They spent the good part of an hour under that table, and by the end of it Jim wished he knew yoga, because that would make all of this a lot more comfortable.

Also, Jim had heard that if you became skilled enough with yoga you could suck your own dick?

The more you know – _insert shooting star_.

Not that he’d need to. There were people for that – but, um, it was a cool fact anyway.

The rest of the day passed without incident. By that, what really happened was, at lunch Joanna purposely poured a bowl of Spaghettios atop her head. Gumby tried to get in on it, and that was really gross all around because Joanna _let_ him. This had called for an impromptu bubble bath, which led to water fights and a very wet hallway.

Jim eventually had to go out and feed the animals, as he’d neglected to that morning, and had left Spock watching Joanna.

When he returned, Jim found Spock painting Joanna’s fingernails in glittery orange. A ‘Best of Disney’ compilation soundtrack played in the background.

Clearly, Joanna had been the instigator in all of this.

Jim stood silently in the entryway, his lips pressed tightly together to keep from laughing. When Joanna lifted her completed hand to blow on the nails, Jim swooped in with a song on his lips.

“ _I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream_ ,” Jim sang along and came up behind Spock. Without warning, he yanked on Spock’s hand and pulled him to his feet. Spock looked shell-shocked and stiff – so Jim did the honours of twirling himself beneath Spock’s arm, lightly holding on to the Vulcan’s warm fingers.

“ _Yes, I know it’s true that visions are seldom all they seem_ ,” Jim pressed his back against Spock’s chest, swaying slightly as he expertly wrapped Spock’s arm around him.

Joanna clapped her hands; her entire face red in pure glee as she broke into peals of unfettered laughter.

Jim spun out dramatically, his hand in Spock’s. Jim’s eyes danced as much as his feet, when he smiled brilliantly at Spock. “ _But if I know you, I know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream_.”

The song came to a close, and Jim let go of Spock in favour of bowing theatrically for Joanna.

“Thank you, thank you – I know, I know, I’m amazing. You can tell me, I don’t mind.”

Jim flicked a glance towards the prince of the dance – and could do nothing to stop that warm, liquid pull in his belly at Spock’s expression. His lips were flushed and parted, as if prepared say – what? Jim didn’t know; and those large, expressive doe-eyes were wide and utterly, _openly_ confused.

Then Spock appeared to collect himself; he flexed his hands at his sides, swallowed, and looked away. The moment had only lasted a few seconds.

Jim mustered up his customary smile and turned away. He picked up the giggling Joanna and swept her up into ‘A Whole New World’.

Evening came quickly when you played Candy Land for like, two hours. When Jim was finally hallucinating Gloppy the Chocolate Monster out of his periphery, he deemed it dinnertime.

Jim broke out the personalised pizza crusts, and let Joanna do whatever the hell she wanted with hers. Jim loaded meat on his own, and Spock looked like he was making a fucking diagram with the precision that he equidistantly placed vegetables atop the pizza sauce.

Dinner consisted of messy hands and faces – Jim claimed he was just _saucy_ , in all meanings of the word – and Jim badgered Joanna for the dirt concerning Bones and Nyota. His two best friends, _flirting_? He certainly wasn’t against that.

Nyota had known Bones as long as Jim – since the guy had rolled into town and needed a speech therapist for his little girl. Well, at the time it had been more like Nyota had begun to instruct them both in baby sign language – but as Joanna grew, so did Nyota’s house calls. Bones and Nyota saw each other more often than Jim saw either of them, actually.

Jim wasn’t averse to that, either. He was surrounded by worry-warts, and didn’t need them _cramping his style_ more than necessary.

Whatever that meant.

It was probably good that Bones knocked when he did, because Jim and Joanna were about to play Spiderman – which usually involved trying to climb the furniture, and Spock _so_ did not look down with that. Spoil sport.

At the sound of knuckles on wood, Spock gave Joanna a small bow and fled upstairs without a word. Joanna yelled, “Bye!” up the stairs, and turned towards Jim with a ready smile. Before Jim could say anything, Joanna quickly signed, _He looks at you weird_.

With another impatient knock at the door, Jim called over his shoulder, “One sec!” He turned back to Joanna.

 _How_?

Joanna pouted and shrugged.

 _He looks at you like Prince Eric in ‘Kiss the Girl’_.

Jim blinked. _Well_. What the hell did you even say to _that_?

He just laughed and ruffled Joanna’s hair. “Let’s get your dad.”

The moment the door had opened, Bones was shoving his way through with the force of an elephant. He jabbed a finger in Jim’s direction and demanded, “Did you know you’ve got the fuckin’ _Army_ on your property, Jim? I just got stopped _on the way up your driveway_ with all these questions about why I was here and what I was doing.

“Where the hell did they come from? Are you in some kind of trouble? I know that one time you had an APB out on you in three states, but that was a sort-of-kind-of a misunderstanding that I look past for the sake of my heart. But _this_ – what have you _done_?”

“ _Fuck_ off – why is it always something _I’ve_ done?” Jim asked defensively and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s not me, it’s them! These guys are worse than Skynet, I can’t shake them.”

“Stop referencing your stupid fucking movies and use plain English! What the hell’re they doin’ here, and how are you gonna get rid of ‘em?”

“It’s not as serious as it looks,” Jim lied with a smile. “Look, I’ll talk to them. See if I can’t clear some things up. You go.”

Bones aimed a narrowed look at Jim. “You don’t _talk_ things out – you beat them.”

Jim raised both his eyebrows and did his best imitation of an angel. “ _Really_ , Bones? Really? You think I’m gonna pop Uncle Sam in the face?”

“I’ve stopped trying to guess what you would and wouldn’t do,” Bones replied morosely. He turned and held out his arms with a half-smile. “Hey, Jojo. You have fun?”

“Yes!” Joanna gave her dad a tight hug, but didn’t insist on being picked up like she did with Jim. “We played with Spock from Narnia today. He lives in the closet.”

“Ah.” Bones patted her head. “That’s nice honey.”

Jim mentally squirmed. “Okay, well, I’ll see you next week?”

Bones whirled on him with those Manic Eyes of Crazy Face. “Get your shit figured out, kid.”

“Shit. Get it figured. Gotcha.” Jim gave a thumbs up.

“You don’t listen to a fucking word I say,” Bones grumbled, as he turned and led Joanna out of the house.

“Ya’ll come back now, y’hear?” Jim called out the door.

“Don’t got a choice!” Bones hollered back.

Jim slumped in the open doorway, his mouth sober as he watched the familiar truck pull away and into the night. He allowed himself a sigh that only the crickets could hear.

 _Right_.

Jim headed outside, his eyes scanning the property illuminated by his porch light. It took a couple minutes of wandering around, but he came across Private Sulu and Chekov leaning against a tree some distance away.

“Do you ever sleep?” Jim asked with a smile.

Both men shot to attention, but didn’t reply.

Private Sulu cleared his throat. “Is there a problem, Mr. Kirk?”

“Well, _yeah_ , actually. Funny you should ask that.” Jim strolled towards them, hands tucked in his back pockets. “I _do_ have a favour to ask you guys.”

Chekov looked shifty. “What is favour?”

Jim had Chekov on his knees in five seconds flat, and two seconds more had the kid’s arm yanked back in a combination armlock and wristlock that would test his pain threshold if he even dared move.

Five years of Brazilian jiu-jitsu had done wonders when Jim had spent high school pretending he was a superhero.

The knock to the ribs from Private Sulu’s boot was expected, and Jim rolled off and ended up bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Jim was laughing.

“Come get me, guys. Please – I _dare_ you. What’ll the press say about this? You really think they’re gonna believe that a lil’ ol’ farmboy managed to take down a hot-shot member of the _Army_? The questions are gonna come – and I look forward to ‘em, because then I enlighten the world as to how you’ve forced yourself on my property when I haven’t done _anything_.”

“You’ll be reported for this,” Private Sulu replied flatly, helping up his comrade.

“Fine ,” Jim spat, still grinning from ear to ear and high on the adrenaline. “Report all you like. Report how _nothing_ has happened here for going on three days, and nothing is _ever_ going to happen. Report to the big man how fucking _stupid_ this kid looked lying on my lawn while you wait for – for _what_?” Jim barked a laugh. “ _Aliens_? Good luck with that.”

“If you have anything more to say –“

Jim smiled and held up his hands, beginning to back away. “No, no I wouldn’t dare. In fact, you guys stick around. You’re truly doing your country proud. Awesome job.”

He gave them a cocky salute and turned away. “At ease, boys.”

Minutes later and Jim was standing in his foyer, scrubbing his hands over his face. He was suddenly incredibly exhausted. Hulking out did come with its downsides.

Jim trudged up the stairs, automatically heading to his own bedroom before he remembered that Spock was now occupying it.

Spock was sitting up on the bed; his back against the headboard and long legs stretched out, with ankles crossed. He had been reading yesterday’s newspaper, but when Jim walked in, Spock peered over the large sheets.

“There appears to be a boot print on your torso.”

“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” Jim waved off the comment and heeled away his shoes. Without another word Jim collapsed onto the bed, his head pillowed on his arms near Spock’s socked feet.

“I heard you vacate the premises.”

“Technically I was still on the premises, just not in the house. Was sayin’ hi to our babysitters.”

“You have a bizarre manner of greeting.”

Jim grunted into his arms. “You could hear all of that?”

“I could not here the entirety of the altercation.”

“The majority, though.”

“Indeed.”

“Hm. So you read minds and hear super-human distances. Anything else I should know? Are you a member of the X-Men?”

Spock shuffled the newspaper, and Jim could hear Spock settle it on his lap. “I do not, as you say, read minds. I am a touch telepath, but I am inclined to receive only an emotional transference.”

“You’re skirting the issue with fancy words,” Jim mumbled. Spock didn’t reply.

Jim thought of their impromptu dance, and Spock’s expression afterwards. The emotions Jim had experienced during that playful, flirtatious moment – how the hell would Spock have perceived that?

“So all the times I touched you –”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Jim replied, not sounding very sorry.

“I would accept your apology if I was assured that you would discontinue the action.”

“Sucks for you, then.”

Spock’s sigh almost went unnoticed. “You will not cease your physical contact upon my person?”

“I like touching you,” Jim replied with a small smile against his forearms. “It’s fun. You react.”

To this, Spock didn’t say a word.

Jim drifted off, fully clothed and on top of the covers.

When he next woke, the room was dark, and Jim was covered in an old afghan. He was still lying on top of the covers, but he’d gravitated towards the heat of Spock’s body beneath them. Jim was curled up against Spock’s legs, his head pillowed on Spock’s comforter-covered foot.

Jim blinked sleepily into the night. There was something warm cuddling his _own_ foot.

Then he realised it was Spock.

Jim murmured something happy under his breath and tipped back into slumber.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were times in Jim’s life when he knew he was dreaming. But since Spock was currently straddling his lap, dressed as Han Solo, it was a minor detail best overlooked.

There were times in Jim’s life when he knew he was dreaming. But since Spock was currently straddling his lap, dressed as Han Solo, it was a minor detail best overlooked.

Obscenely long fingers dragged down Jim’s bare arms, and mapped the dips and hills of muscle – then pinned his wrists to the hard, unforgiving armrests of the command chair of the _Millennium Falcon_. Hot, dry huffs of breath skittered across Jim’s ear, standing the hairs on the back of his neck on end.

Spock’s lips – god, they were pure sin, how could anyone so innocent be so fucking _erotic_ – left moist, sweltering trails along the racing pulse at Jim’s throat and shoulders. The tip of Spock’s tongue darted against Jim’s clavicle and laved a line along the length of his collarbone.

Jim moaned shamelessly and clenched his fists, which were quickly losing their feeling under the weight of Spock’s powerful hands. He ached to touch and explore and _know_ the long, lean body he’d been eyeing not-so-secretly for all this time. And – _fuck_ – Spock was wearing a vest, okay, and as unbelievably sexy as that was, Jim just wanted to rip his clothes off and do something more than this goddamn _rutting_ that was driving him past distraction and into full-blown insanity.

“Spock, _please_ ,” Jim whimpered pathetically – and _god_ , when had he become such a total bottom? “Let me just touch...”

 _You. Everything._

The soft texture of Spock’s tousled hair tickled Jim’s chin, before the Vulcan merely grunted and slipped down to Jim’s chest. When Spock languidly dragged his teeth over Jim’s nipple, he bucked up with a strangled gasp, and pressed his straining erection between Spock’s thighs.

Spock jerked back, his eyes black as pitch – and yet when Jim looked into them he saw light – and it was then that Jim knew he had to get them both out of their clothes as soon as possible.

It was also then that Jim looked down at his own attire, realised he was wearing Princess Leia’s golden slave bikini – a _bra_ , for fuck’s sake – and woke up with a mute scream on his lips.

Jim shot up in bed, his legs tangled in the sheets pooled at his feet. A thin sheen of sweat cooled on his skin despite the frigid autumn temperature outside. His rock-hard dick throbbed for attention, but went stubbornly ignored as Jim scrubbed his hands over his face.

No more _Star Wars_ marathons with Spock before bed.

There were some days that Jim seriously despised his psyche. Today was shaping up to be one of _those_ days.

Jim glanced morosely at the clock.

Five twenty-seven in the morning. Three minutes until his alarm. _Damn_ – Jim hated it when he woke up a couple of minutes before the set time. He always experienced the urge to curl up and return to sleep out of pure spite.

Spiteful sleeping, it was a real thing.

Instead of giving in to the part of him that was five years old – which, to be honest, was _most_ of him – Jim blindly switched off his alarm and allowed his feet to touch the icy hardwood floor.

Willing away his erection through pure Jedi mind-power, Jim padded from his room and towards the hallway bathroom. The house was dark and still, and Jim was glad to know that Spock was still sleeping.

Meditation and impressive Vulcan constitution aside, Spock still tended to rest less than Jim did. Not that Jim hadn’t appreciated finding breakfast made for him the past three days, but it wasn’t really necessary. Pop Tarts did a body good.

After taking a piss – and yeah, he kind of had to stand at the toilet for a good several minutes before his dick decided to calm the fuck down and allow Jim to go – he fumbled downstairs to feed Gumby, then groped the guest-room floor he was occupying for yesterday’s clothes. He was going out to feed animals and wade through shit, and Jim had long-past learned not to bother showering or dressing properly until morning chores were complete.

Half of a S’mores Pop Tart hanging out of Jim’s mouth, he shrugged on a flannel jacket and braved the vicious morning chill of Iowa in the fall. He went about his work without his usual music. Some days it was more than enough to unwind with manual labour and the chipper song of sparrows, cardinals, and catbirds.

Things had returned to relative calm in the past days. Jim and Spock had fallen into a tentative routine that reminded Jim a hell of a lot of marriage. The idea had previously amused Jim, but after the traumatising Bra Dream it just terrified him.

Jim knew what to expect when he walked in the door after busting his ass in the cold. Spock would be in the kitchen, preparing some kind of breakfast that managed to be simultaneously vegetarian and delicious. It would also be possible that the morning news radio would be on, and Spock would have some devastatingly dry and scathing comment about the intelligence of the hosts that Jim would just roll his eyes at.

Old, unacknowledged insecurities niggled at the back of Jim’s brain, telling him he should be freaking out over the entire situation. No, not the alien situation – that Spock Thing Situation.

Jim was dealing with STS – it was like an STD, but only worse because it involved _feelings_.

But truth be told, Jim tended to ignore any weaknesses he might possess. Wallowing and introspection were both ridiculously boring ways for him to spend his time.

On top of that, Jim had missed another presence in the house. He’d grown up with Mom and Sam, and then Frank and Sam, and then he and Sam – up until five years ago, at least. For the most part, Jim was a social creature, and he was more than content with admitting it was nice to have someone other than Gumby around.

Having finished the morning’s work that brought a pleasant ache to his muscles, Jim headed inside. He wandered into the kitchen first, where he smelled coffee. Spock wasn’t cooking, but it smelled like something... _cinnamon_ was in the oven. The Vulcan sat at the kitchen table, pristine as ever, and appeared to be finishing up a crossword puzzle from yesterday’s newspaper.

For a moment Jim simply stood in the doorway, and appraised the strong lines of Spock’s back and shoulders in the morning sunlight. How had he grown so accustomed to Spock’s silent, steady presence in the house? Jim had to admit that it unnerved him – just a little.

Spock didn’t look up from the newspaper. “You smell strongly of manure. I suggest you bathe before stepping further into the kitchen.”

“Hey, it’s a manly smell, okay?” Jim crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame. “I’m very masculine.”

Yeah, the Bra Dream _totally_ affirmed that.

Spock looked up and scrutinised Jim’s grubby attire. “Under that paradigm of thought, it would be prudent to conclude that your farm animals also smell incredibly... masculine.”

Jim made a childish face. “I don’t care if I smell like a stallion. It suits my persona. Can’t be tamed, man.”

Spock sent him a withering look. Jim grimaced and already began slinking wordlessly away – to shower.

And not because Spock told him to, dammit.

When Jim returned – squeaky clean and hair still damp – he was greeted with the smells of home-cooking. He didn’t know what the hell that thing was cooling on top of the stove, but it looked suspiciously like some kind of baked French toast. Which was, basically, the coolest thing ever and Jim was once again thinking that this arrangement wasn’t so bad.

Spock was wordlessly setting out plates. There was a tranquillity and ease in the Vulcan’s gait and posture that hadn’t been there when they’d first met. Of course, that might’ve had something to do with being shot in the ass, but Jim didn’t think so. Spock looked oddly... comfortable, living here.

Jim wouldn’t go as far as imagining Spock was enjoying himself, but he seemed skilled at adapting in whatever environment was presented to him. In that way, Jim liked to think he and Spock were similar.

Jim growled with hunger and stalked over to the glass casserole dish. “This smells _obscenely_ delicious. Just give me a fork and I’ll go at it right here.”

“Like a swine with a trough?” Spock inquired calmly.

“ _Someone_ is in a good mood this morning,” Jim replied. His lips twitched as he met Spock’s eyes and caught only carefully masked emotion.

“I am certain I do not know of what you speak.”

“Uh huh. Feed me.”

With that, Jim plopped down before his empty plate and grinned up at Spock. Jim got a half-hearted glare in return, but breakfast was served.

Conversation came easily – _big surprise_ , Jim had never experienced problems with chatting – but they skirted the more important issues of Spock’s stay here. They both understood that this was a waiting game, and nothing else could be done until they ran the Army off Jim’s property.

Jim could tell it was getting to Spock; the waiting. If Spock was anything like Jim, he hated to be cooped up for long. Sure, there was always time for laziness, but at the end of the day Jim was a hyperactive genius who needed to _do shit_.

Spock was essentially the same. There was only so much he could read, and television he could watch, and board games they could play before Spock was ready to burst out of the walls.

Jim wished he could sneak the guy out for even an hour, but the risk was too great. Spock didn’t complain, but Jim saw it in the tightness around Spock’s eyes when he looked out the window; and in the way he clenched his fists, like he didn’t realise he was controlling himself.

Once they had both pushed aside their plates, Jim leaned back in his chair and ran a hand down his full belly. “You wanna play Scrabble before I go out again?”

Spock raised a brow. “I would rather not. From what I’ve gathered of the game in the last three occasions we have played it, you utterly misconstrue the concept of Scrabble. You cannot invent your own terms.”

“You’re still on that, are you?” Jim waved him off. “I told you, it wasn’t on purpose. Sometimes I just forget which words I made up in a sleep-deprived, Mountain Dew-high.”

“A disturbing yet not altogether surprising notion,” Spock replied, deadpan.

“What’s it to you, anyway? You _always_ win – which, by the way, should not be allowed, because English is not even your primary language.”

“I have spoken Standard English for the same length of time as Vulcan,” Spock shot back, standing to take their plates. Then he froze and blinked, staring at the tabletop. The moment lasted seconds, and he was sweeping up the dishes with tight, jerky motions.

Jim narrowed his eyes and watched Spock head towards the sink, his spine ramrod straight. Alarm bells went off in Jim’s head. He’d been living with this Vulcan for a week; spent hours upon hours in his presence. So when Spock went on the alert, Jim noticed.

The opportunity had arrived to _pounce_.

“Really? I had no idea. Why would you learn English at such an early age? Is Earth really that important to you guys?”

“You pose several queries in tandem,” Spock replied sharply, his movements rigid as he flicked on the faucet and began to wash.

Jim dissected the expression on Spock’s profile and tapped his fingertips on the table in quick, uneven rhythms. “Does everyone on your planet learn English?”

There was a pause. “Negative.”

“But _you_ did.”

“I believe that is what I said.”

“Do you speak other languages?”

Spock wouldn’t look up from the sink. “Affirmative.”

Jim chewed on his lip. “What else do you speak?”

“Andorian, Pre-Surakian Vulcan, Italian, French, German, Urdu, Russian, and Latin.”

The only sound in the room was the slosh of water from the faucet.

“Are you fucking with me?”

Spock carefully placed the dishes on the drying rack and wiped his hands on a small towel. When he turned to Jim, Spock’s gaze appeared as cloistered as it had when he’d first arrived. “I would not lie.”

 _Are you so sure about that_?

The question was on Jim’s tongue – but for once, he didn’t dare speak it. Spock wasn’t a liar, but he wasn’t forthright either.

“Seems like you were bred for world domination,” Jim commented lightly.

Spock’s eyes flicked to the ground and back up. “Vulcans have no desire to reign over your planet, Jim.”

“What _do_ Vulcans desire, Spock? Because this whole thing feels like a bad episode of _The X-Files_.” Jim stood, his chair screeching back behind him. He approached Spock slowly, his head cocked with a curiosity that burned.

“You don’t seem all that culture-shocked – which, yeah, you might be suppressing it – but really, there’s very little about America that seems to phase you. You speak enough languages to potentially live anywhere in the world. And let’s not forget that, oh, the motherfuckin’ _military_ knows about your existence – which means all signs point to the fact that you guys have been here _way_ more than once.”

Their faces were close, but Jim couldn’t detect even a glimmer of emotion in those eyes. Spock remained stern and still, his gaze hollow and direct.

Jim swallowed tightly and clenched his hands at his sides. “You need to give me _something_ , Spock.”

“On what grounds?”

Jim bared his teeth in a not-smile. “On the grounds that you’re sleeping in my _bed_ , asshole.”

When Spock didn’t reply, Jim closed his eyes and took a breath. When he opened them, Spock was looking at him oddly. Jim’s lips curved crookedly.

“And also, I opened you up to the world of _Star Wars_ , so that’s got to count for something. Come on, Spock.”

They were so close. Near enough that Jim could reach out and press an imploring hand on Spock’s forearm. He didn’t, but he could have.

A small frown tugged at Spock’s mouth. His gaze flittered over Jim’s features, and Jim could feel his face begin to heat beneath the weight of the unnaturally serious gaze.

“Spock, _please_ ,” Jim implored, before he realised the same words had been whispered in his dream.

 _Fingers branding into the pulse at his wrist, warm breath ghosting across his throbbing lips._

Spock released a breath from his nose that might have been construed as a sigh. “The situation is complicated. Vulcans have no intention of dominating Earth. We simply wish to aid your civilisation in its growth.”

Jim blinked, taken aback. “Wait – what? _How_? What does _that_ m –”

A rap at the door sent Gumby hurtling out of the room with raucous barks. Jim swore and looked to the ceiling in hopes that maybe some patience would dump on top of his head. It didn’t, unfortunately, and when Jim refocused on the room, Spock was already retreating upstairs.

Another knock sounded, and Jim could hear Gumby scrabbling his paws at the doorknob. Jim sauntered into the foyer, yelling good-naturedly, “Idiot, you don’t have opposable thumbs. You are a dog – _git_!”

He nudged Gumby aside with his hip and swung open the door. Jim quickly banked his surprise when he found himself staring at the familiar, weathered face of Sergeant Pike.

“Sarge!” Jim grinned and swept his arm out to indicate he should come in. “I knew you couldn’t stay away from my pretty face for long. What can I do for you? Nothing _off the record_ , though, because I’m kind of in a serious relationship.”

Pike stared blandly at Jim, but the corner of his lips twisted – whether in humour or ‘please let me kill him now’, Jim wasn’t sure. Nor did he care.

The Sergeant came in and faced Jim, absently patting Gumby on the head when the dog approached for a crotch-sniff. “Still a wise-ass?”

“Still trying to channel Clint Eastwood?”

Pike sighed. “Let’s cut the crap, Mr. Kirk. You’ve got your wish, my men are cutting out.”

Jim pouted. “Aw, but I so enjoyed having stalkers. Also, they were like makeshift scarecrows. Really useful for this time of year. You sure you don’t wanna stick around?”

Sergeant Pike took a step towards Jim, his eyes almost freakishly calm. “If you’re trying to bait me, Mr. Kirk, I assure you it’s not going to play out how you’d like it to. I’ve read your files. I _know_ you, and I’m more than willing to acknowledge that there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

Pike’s shoulders relaxed, and his expression was almost jovial, in the way that had Jim getting goosebumps. Grey eyes remained fixed on Jim’s face. “So, in the mean time, I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Two, as often as I can spare them.”

Jim’s mouth dropped open. “Did you just quote _Lord of the Rings_ at me?”

Pike raised his eyebrows, looking far too innocent. “What?”

“You did! Oh my god, what is my life coming to? Get out of here, Gandalf.” Jim flung his hands out, scooting Sergeant Pike out of the door.

Pike’s brief chuckle faded as he stood on the front porch. His eyes went hard and sober once more. “I _will_ be checking up on you, Mr. Kirk.”

Jim nodded and quietly said, “I know.”

Several minutes after Pike’s retreat Jim remained in the foyer, leaning against the door.

This was good. The Army was gone, and Spock could phone home once more. Things would go back to normal. Spock could continue on his mysterious mission of whatever-the-fuck, and Jim would return to a life with marginally less drama than usual.

Yep, things were looking up...

Spock’s smooth voice interrupted Jim’s thoughts. “They have vacated the area.”

Jim hummed an agreement, still far-away. “You can reassemble your transmitter now.”

“Indeed.”

Jim met Spock’s eyes from across the room. Spock looked to the side, then back. “In the case that we may have been bluffed by the Sergeant, it would be wise to wait for approximately seven Terran days before broadcasting my transmission.”

“I – you –” Jim banked his flustered reaction by clearing his throat and nodding sternly; but unfortunately, his cheeks continued to flush. “Uh, yeah. That’s a better idea, actually. Logical.”

Spock had that inscrutable look again. His gaze dropped to where Gumby waited at his feet for love and attention. Spock diligently scratched behind his ears, and Jim idly wondered how skilled those fingers really were.

Judging by the blissed-out expression on Gumby’s slack-jawed doggy face – _very_.

Jim wandered towards them, crouched before Gumby and ruffled his neck – he’d had needed to do something with his hands. He peered up at Spock and met his eyes.

“Look, Spock – about before–”

The house-phone rang.

Spock swallowed and Jim startled. They both stared at each other for a moment, as if this were the most bizarre thing to happen in the short and colourful history of their relationship.

 _Brrring_.

They would never have peace, would they?

 _Brrring_.

Jim let out a short burst of hysterical laughter and got to his feet. As he came up, Jim’s hand errantly brushed Spock’s arm. It was then that Jim realised that he and Spock were closer than he’d anticipated, and nearly eye to eye.

 _Brrring_.

Spock’s didn’t hold Jim’s gaze this time. He looked aside and murmured, “I believe you are being hailed.”

 _Brrring_.

Jim blinked and shook himself off. “Yeah. Hold up.”

Who the fuck called him on the house-phone, anyway? Either solicitors – and in that case, Jim would start to talk like Yoda until he was hung up on – or someone who was trying to reach him by his deceased cell-phone and actually _knew_ his coveted landline number.

“Y’lo?” Jim said as soon as he’d yanked the phone off the wall-mount.

“ _Kirk_ ,” a foreboding and familiar feminine voice snapped.

“Nyonyo!” Jim grinned at the nickname he knew Nyota would despise. It was the most annoying mutilation of her name that Kirk could muster on the spot, and so he ran with it. “What up?”

“’What up’? Honestly – _that_ is what you’re going with? Are you aware that we graduated from high-school eight years ago?”

“How could I forget? Your afro was the size of a –”

“As much as I adore these little trips down memory lane, it’s not why I called.”

“You just called to say you love me?” Jim asked, as he restlessly paced the living room. He didn’t like talking on the phone. He much preferred face-to-face socialisation.

“That’ll only happen on my death-bed.” But Nyota sounded undeniably amused. She could never remain entirely serious with Jim for long.

“You’ll never die. I’ve seen how much age-defying cream you slap on your face.”

“Just –” A huff on Nyota’s side. “Where have you _been_? I’ve been texting you for days. I thought you might have gotten your head stuck between the stair rungs again.”

“Oh, come on – gimme more credit than that!”

“Kirk, it happened three years ago.”

Jim winced at the memory and wandered into the hall, where Spock was sitting at his usual bottom stair and petting the dog. Spock looked up and Jim offered an absent-minded smile. “My, uh, phone broke.”

Nyota muttered something about destructive tendencies, and then, “Well that’s no excuse for missing a visit with Winona this week.”

Jim froze and stared unseeing at Spock. He released a pent-up breath. “Shit. Yeah, you’re right.” He refocused on Spock, who was staring at him blankly, his head cocked slightly. “Things have been hectic over here.”

“I hope you can hear how much of a fuck I give,” Nyota replied tersely.

Jim pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away from Spock. “It’s one of your many linguistic talents.”

Nyota’s voice gentled. “Don’t try to butter me up. Just go see her.”

“Yeah, yeah – I’m goin’.” Jim was already tugging on his gold Converse with the phone wedged between his head and shoulder.

“Okay, well I’ve got to –“

“Wait!” Jim nearly toppled over as he tried to tie his shoe and keep a phone balanced at the same time.

“Yes?”

“I heard from a very reliable source that you and Bones made googly eyes at each other over ice cream last Thursday.”

There was a long pause on the other end, which led Jim to believe he’d been hung up on – not for the first or last time – until Nyota replied.

“First of all, _no one_ but elderly women say ‘googly eyes’, so stop watching _Golden Girls_. Second, I’m guessing you bribed a poor four-year old for information that is entirely none of your business. _Third_ , afore-mentioned ice cream was had in _McDonald’s_ while Joanna rolled around in a ball-pit. It could not have been any less of a date.”

Jim clucked his tongue, opened the coat closet and began to rummage. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

This time he _did_ get hung up on. Jim chuckled to himself as he turned off the phone and noticed Spock in his periphery.

He was no longer petting Gumby – just steadily watching Jim in a way that should have made him nervous, but didn’t.

Jim waved over Spock. “That was my friend Nyota. You’d like her. She thinks she’s the boss of me, too.”

Spock raised a brow and approached Jim with his usual lithe grace. “I do not presume to give you –” he paused when Jim handed him the phone and continued to look through the top shelf of the closet. “Orders.”

“ _Pfft_ , please. You’re such a top.” Jim froze for a moment, his hand clutching a hat. Okay, maybe that was the dream talking – and at a totally inappropriate moment.

“What is ‘a top’?” Spock asked with so much innocence that Jim nearly laughed in relief.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Jim turned to find Spock eyeing him with a particularly unfriendly gaze. Jim just grinned. “So, hey, I’ve got good news.”

Spock looked dubious and remained silent.

Jim’s smile didn’t falter. “We’re going on a field trip!”

  
A frown tugged at Spock’s mouth.

Jim looked around. “I guess Vulcans don’t do field trips. Um, what I mean to say is that now that we’re free, we’re going out. Y’know – into the world. Breathe fresh air and all that jazz.”

Spock raised a brow. “My respiratory system is functioning appropriately under the atmospheric conditions within the house. I can find no logic in leaving the premises.”

Then Spock put on his lofty voice – the one that implied Jim was a particularly slow child. “In addition, it would be highly illogical for me to be seen in public. I believe you have made note of my alien anatomy on several occasions.”

 _You have no idea_.

Jim gave Spock a ‘bitch, _please_ ’ look. “I already thought that through. That’s why I have _this_.”

With that, Jim reached up and tugged a flimsy winter hat on Spock’s head. Jim’s knuckles brushed soft, inky hair and grazed the warm, delicate flesh of Spock’s earlobes as he set the cap straight. Spock’s eyes flashed with something Jim couldn’t identify, and a slender hand came up to assumedly brush Jim’s fingers away.

Jim took a step back from Spock before that could happen. He inspected his handiwork and pressed his lips together to keep a laugh at bay. Spock was looking more irate by the second, and he didn’t know the half of it.

Sat snugly atop Spock’s head was a white and pink Hello Kitty hat – with cat ears and a bow and everything. It fit quite nicely, despite it belonging to Joanna. The earflaps did well to hide Spock’s _alien anatomy_ , too. To be honest, Jim thought it suited Spock rather well.

Okay, and it was _totally_ adorable despite the wrathful expression brewing behind Spock’s stiff features.

Jim eked out a squeak of laughter and brought his hand to his mouth. “It’s – ah – it hides your ears really well. Also, pink suits your comple – ah!”

Spock yanked the hat off in one swift motion and frowned down at. His hair was mussed and standing on end with static.

“This hat has feline ears,” he said, as if he’d just discovered the most absurd garment in the universe.

“It’s from Japan. Personally, I’m a Keroppi fan, but –”

“You would have me don a hat with ears in order to hide my own ears?”

Jim went for a winning smile, his eyebrows raised. “Misdirection?”

Spock flicked his gaze to Jim and nodded, almost tentatively. “A clever use of the skill, but I admit I dislike the concept of dressing as a feline in public.”

Jim shrugged – he wasn’t disappointed, as he’d done the entire thing as a joke, anyway. “Suit yourself. I think I’ve got something that won’t embarrass your fragile Vulcan sensibilities.”

“Vulcans are not fragile.”

“You _say_ that,” Jim started, as he pulled a North Face fleece from the closet that looked like it might fit Spock’s long arms, and handed it to him. “But from what little you’ve told me of Vulcan society, you guys basically walk on egg shells around each other.”

Spock shrugged on the jacket, his brows minutely pulling together. “I fail to derive the connection between our culture and egg shells, Jim.”

Jim huffed a laugh as he unearthed a suitable hat. “All I’m saying is that for however physically strong you may be, I’ve found it laughably easy to rile and offend you.”

He faced Spock, leaned forward with a cheeky grin, and pressed the winter cap against Spock’s chest. “Of course, I wouldn’t change that for the world.”

Spock looked down and inspected the gray and dark green striped hat. Spock tugged it on, carefully covering the tops of his ears and his eyebrows.

Jim grinned. “The Slytherin colours suit you, even though I’d have pegged you as a Ravenclaw.”

Spock aimed a droll look Jim’s way. “I believe there will come a time in which I will utterly abandon my attempts to understand your manner of speech.”

“I think everyone reaches the end of their rope with me, eventually. I’m impossible.” Jim replied good-naturedly, and pulled on his own jacket. He was about to explain what the idiom of ‘end of the rope’ meant, when Jim caught Spock’s expression.

The Vulcan’s eyes were unusually dark, and the small wrinkle between his eyebrows indicated puzzlement. Then he simply said, “I disagree,” and swept past him to return the phone to its place in the other room.

Jim was left staring at air and contemplating what the hell _that_ meant. What did Spock disagree with? That he was impossible, or that everyone became frustrated with him in the end?

Mentally shaking himself off – fucking cryptic Vulcans, who the hell needed that – Jim nabbed his car keys from the wall hook, and yelled, “You comin’ or what?” before heading out onto the porch.

He didn’t have to turn around to know Spock was following and shutting the door quietly behind him. Spock sidled up beside him as they approached his gray Jeep Wrangler – and Jim had to admit that it felt kind of unnerving to be out in the daylight with Spock. Come to think of it, they’d met at night, and so hadn’t been outside with each other like this _ever_.

Jim knew that taking Spock out this early in the game was probably a dipshit move on his part, but he couldn’t stand caging the Vulcan for so goddamn long. The guy hadn’t complained, but Jim couldn’t watch him sit around the house all day any more than he could genuinely enjoy a visit to the zoo. Jim knew what it felt like to be shackled, and he wasn’t about to inflict that on another person – or alien – if he could do anything about it.

So, yeah, this was monumentally stupid on some level. But Spock hadn’t even argued the point, and that made it glaringly apparent that he wanted _out_.

They wordlessly got into the car, with Spock watching and copying Jim’s motions in putting on the seatbelt. Jim started up the car and was immediately blasted with the radio. Spock didn’t flinch, but Jim caught him leaning back in the seat from the force of the sudden sound. Jim deftly flicked the volume down to a murmur and turned on the heat for Spock’s sake.

It wasn’t until they were pulling out onto the long, empty stretch of farm-lined road that Spock spoke. “May I inquire as to our destination?”

Jim frowned and then laughed awkwardly. “Oh. God, yeah – sorry. I kinda dragged you along without even asking, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Spock replied simply, without recrimination. “Although the choice to accompany you was mine.”

Jim hummed a noncommittal noise, his eyes on the road and his thoughts distant. What on Earth had made him think that Spock would want to come along to visit Mom? Jim hadn’t even introduced his old partners to his mother – hadn’t wanted them that close.

Despite being a blabber-mouth and obnoxious to boot, Jim had a barbed-wire fence cordoned off in his life, marked boldly as ‘ _Do Not Enter_ ’. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed by his family or his past. Jim was too confident in himself to waste time on such an emotion.

The fact of the matter was that Jim viewed his intimate relationships on a different level from his familial ones. They didn’t relate, and therefore didn’t need to meet.

Maybe that was it. Spock wasn’t family or fuck-buddy – and so, in a way, was safe. It wasn’t like the guy was going to be hanging around forever, either. Whatever Spock took away from his experience with Jim it would remain as hush-hush as possible. Spock lived across the universe, after all.

Spock was an exception.

“Jim?”

“What?” Jim blinked out of his uncharacteristic reverie. Introspection had never sat well with him. Left him with a funny taste in his mouth, like that hardening paste they put all over your teeth at the dentist.

“Oh – right. We’re gonna visit my mom. I usually see her on a weekly basis, but things have been,” Jim aimed a rueful smile at Spock, “complicated.”

Spock raised a brow and nodded. “Indeed.”

“She’s pretty cool as far as moms go, and I know she’ll get a kick outta you.”

“I admit I am fascinated to make the acquaintance of the woman who raised you,” Spock replied, his hand coming up to ensure his eyebrows were covered by the hat.

Jim slid a quick glance Spock’s way and cracked a grin. “What are you implying, Spock?”

Spock’s chin angled a bit higher as he stared straight ahead. “I do not comprehend your query.”

Jim laughed softly and shook his head. They sat in companionable quiet for the remainder of the ride into Riverside. At some point Jim had realised he hadn’t needed to fill their silences, because it was never particularly awkward for them.

That being said, Jim was rarely mute in the first place – but on rare occasions that he was, there existed a natural level of comfort between them. Jim wouldn’t go as far as to say he totally trusted the guy – too many unanswered questions and lingering looks – but Jim experienced a level assurance around the Vulcan.

Speaking of trust and disclosure...

“Does Vulcan have mental health facilities?” Jim asked casually.

Spock was silent for a moment. “To clarify, you are referring to psychiatric hospitals which specialise in the treatment of serious mental disorders?”

“Why yes, Merriam-Webster, I am.”

“Then my reply is no. Approximately ninety-eight point four seven percent of possible Vulcan mental disorders are curable with our scientific advancements. The remaining percentage either goes into exile or remains in the care of a family member.”

Jim winced. “Ouch, the former sounds like a kind of shitty option.”

There was a shrug in Spock’s tone. “It is merely the truth. There are very little incidents of incurable mental disorders. We are a psychic species and have a firm hold on our mental faculties.”

“Good for you,” Jim replied dryly. He released a short, sharp breath that certainly wasn’t a huff. “Well, my mom happens to live in a psychiatric hospital for the time being. Well, technically it’s more like a halfway house for long-term patients, but still...”

Jim paused and waited for the inevitable questions or coos of unwanted apology, or to feel a pitying look pressed against his profile.

When none came, Jim frowned and kept his eyes on the road. “I mean, she’s not batshit crazy or anything. Not like Arkham Asylum material, y’know? She’s just bipolar.” Jim laughed weakly. “Well, there’s no _just_ about it, I guess – but she’s good now, I think.”

Still there was no reply. Jim didn’t dare tear his eyes away from the road to investigate Spock’s expression. He was in ramble mode, anyway – there was no stopping him.

“She’s a voluntary patient. Mom just... checked herself in one day, and that was that. She’ll leave when she pleases, I guess.”

It had been ten years since Mom had endured that final, horrid depressive episode. Ten years since Jim had helped her pack her suitcases with trembling hands and hot, moist eyes. For ten years Jim had supported her in this choice – even if it had meant giving up school to stay on the farm and pay the hospital bills.

Mom was _Mom_ – Jim was only going to get one. He already knew what it was like not to have a dad in his life. He wasn’t going to flake out on the only parent he had left.

Jim may have been a selfish bastard concerning all other things, but he really _tried_ to be a good son if he could help it. Sometimes he failed, and other times he liked to think he wasn’t too bad.

Spock’s voice was low and precise; as normal as ever. “I am unfamiliar with the intricacies of Terran medicine, but would it not be more logical for her to remain with you at this point in her recovery?”

Jim shrugged and flexed his hands on the steering wheel. “That’s what I think, too. It’s not that she’s not able to function normally in society. But I think... well, she’s not exactly crazy about the family farm, if you know what I mean.”

“I confess I do not.”

Jim shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was probably the longest conversation he’d ever had about Mom outside of... well, therapy. And he’d been long finished with those assholes. Every single one of them thought they were Dr. Phil or something, and it annoyed Jim to the point that he’d just made shit up during their sessions.

“The farm belongs to Dad. Always has. She couldn’t stand to be there, but finances were – and _are_ – so tied up in the crops that all we could do was stay on.” Jim turned onto a long, tree-lined gravel driveway just outside the limits of Riverside.

“I dunno,” Jim murmured, sneaking a glance at Spock. He was looking out the passenger window at the impressive fire-hued oak trees. “I never gave it much thought. Fact of the matter was that Mom was depressed. It got worse after Dad died, and slowly turned into a Kirk Clusterfuck of which the likes will never been seen again.”

They pulled up to a large, copiously-windowed redbrick manor that always reminded Jim of the Professor Xavier’s house.

“But if she’s happy here, then I’m happy too.”

Spock made a little noise in the back of his throat, and Jim could only take that as some kind of begrudging assent. Did that mean Spock had someone special in his life whose well-being affected his own?

Not that it was any of his business.

Jim sucked in a breath and shifted into park, putting his game face on. “We’re here.”

Spock nodded wordlessly and stepped out, as Jim pocketed his keys and slammed the door behind him. He rounded the hood of the car, a ready smile for Spock pulling at his lips.

Spock’s shoulders were slightly hunched, the tip of his chin tucked in to the collar of one of Jim’s old boyfriend’s jackets.

Gary probably, because Jim had threatened to keep all his stuff after they broke up – and had followed through. Lucky for Jim, he now had possession of the _Monty Python’s Flying Circus_ DVD box-set and a camouflage Snuggie – which was seriously one of the most comfortable things in the word, fuck how it looked. _Jackpot_.

Jim was content to let his jacket flap open. He enjoyed the cooler months of the year – particularly winter, when epic snowball fights could be started and grand igloos could be built.

The idea popped up that Jim would enjoy showing Spock how to build a snow fort, when he realised Spock probably wouldn’t be around that long. Although he didn’t have a grasp on the whole ‘Let’s Do the Time Warp’ mechanics, he understood that Spock’s cavalry would probably arrive sooner than later.

Jim pushed away his apprehension with a smile and reached forward to tug down a side of Spock’s hat – even though it absolutely hadn’t been necessary. The pad of his thumb met a warm earlobe before Spock’s eyes went sharp and he efficiently side-stepped from the contact. He turned on his heel in a manner that would make a general proud, and headed towards the marked main entrance.

His cheeks hot despite the crisp, fall air, Jim fell into step with Spock’s lanky strides. Spock appeared careful to keep a couple inches of distance between them, and Jim found himself acutely feeling the lack of warmth whispering against his elbow.

A heat-wave welcomed Jim to the facility as he led them inside and past the front desk. Jim sent a wave to Maria, the fifty-something orderly who always seemed to be sitting at reception; no matter what odd hours Jim came to visit.

When Jim passed by, Maria yanked her retro headphones to her neck – no doubt playing the _Sound of Music_ soundtrack – and grinned.

“Jimmy! You’re late. Who’s your friend?”

Jim winked and placed a hand on Spock’s arm to guide him towards the next room. Maria was great fun and she could talk Mexican wrestling with the best of them, but if you didn’t keep moving towards your goal she would suck you up into conversation for the next forty minutes.

“That’s for me to know and you to gossip with my mom about later.”

Maria rolled her dark eyes and waved him off. “Smartass. Go see your mama. Oh – and, Jimmy!”

Jim bit back a groan of defeat and swung around with a smile. “Yeah?”

“What are you going to be for Halloween?”

He hadn’t given it much thought. Jim said the first thing that popped into mind.

“Han Solo.”

Maria pursed her lips and gave him an up and down that should have had Jim blushing. “Good choice. Better take pictures – all those young interns will be swooning.”

Jim laughed and bumped Spock with his body, urging him out the door. “Uh huh. We’ll see about that. Bye, Maria.”

“Bye, darling.”

Once they were safely heading down the well-lit corridor, Jim covertly inspected Spock’s profile. The Vulcan looked as emotionless as ever – perhaps even a bit far away. Jim experienced an unusual kernel of doubt digging into the back of his mind; a thought that he’d perhaps pushed Spock into something ridiculously awkward.

Meeting the parents – er, _parent_? Kind of awkward on a regular basis, let alone the current circumstances.

But if there was one thing Jim could trust, it was that Spock would tell him if he didn’t want to do something. Spock seemed about as stubborn as a Kirk, and just slightly less opinionated. Jim figured Spock would say ‘no’ when he experienced the need.

Spock followed Jim up a staircase. “You are experiencing apprehension.”

Jim paused on the landing and smiled quizzically at Spock. “I think your radar is off, Miss Cleo. I’m fine.”

Spock narrowed his eyes for a brief moment, and then seemed to discard Jim’s allusion to a psychic he’d probably never heard of. “I am rarely incorrect.”

“And even if you weren’t – which you _are_ – it doesn’t really matter.”

Jim turned away from Spock and began to head down an identical corridor from the one they’d previously been through. Although Jim had no eye for decor and shit, he’d watched enough episodes of _Trading Spaces_ to recognise that the pale wallpaper and expansive windows were a definite plus in the relaxation department.

Spock was silent behind him, but his observation had Jim mentally squirming – and that annoyed him. “By the way, I wasn’t even _touching_ you. Can’t you dial down the super powers a little?”

“I can assure you that my mental shields are currently in optimum condition,” Spock replied stiffly. “It is you who is the issue.”

Jim abruptly turned to frown up at Spock. “Hey, don’t blame your shitty brain armour on _me_. I’m not doing anything to you, unless you count, like – _existing_. Which, in that case, I do apologise for affronting you so horribly. I’ll try to breathe a little less in your presence if that’ll help.”

“It will not help.”

Jim refrained from sputtering and instead scrutinised Spock’s face. “What aspect of me is exactly the problem, Spock?”

Spock immediately replied, “Your rampant emotionalism is distracting,” after which his cheeks went the colour of Granny Smith apples. He looked away, towards a spot over Jim’s shoulder. “If I may ask, where is our destination?”

“What?” Jim blinked, tearing his attention away from the charming alien pallor. “Oh, um – we’re here, actually.” He gestured vaguely to the door behind Spock.

Spock nodded, turned and stepped aside for Jim.

After another short, curious look directed Spock’s way, Jim rapped lightly on the door with the back of his knuckles. He called through the door, “Your favourite son is here!”

There was a shuffling and a mild curse as Jim heard Mom unmistakably drop something – biggest butterfingers he ever met – and finally the door opened to reveal his mother’s face.

She looked good – healthy. She’d dyed her hair back to blonde – Mom experimented with colours more than a seventeen year-old girl – and her clothes were as they always were; a t-shirt, cardigan, jeans, and bare feet. She looked as she had Jim’s entire life.

Mom frowned at Jim in disappointment as she gave him a once-over. “I thought you said my favourite son was here. I was sure my and George Clooney’s child is in a Swiss boarding school right now.”

Jim cocked a hip. “ _Please_ , I am the undeniable prodigy. Now are you going to let us in, or do you want to take this into the hall?”

“Them’s fightin’ words,” she drawled, her eyes twinkling.

Then her gaze caught on Spock. Her eyebrows rocketed up. “Why, hello there tall, dark and handsome. Do you belong to Jimmy?”

Jim glanced over his shoulder in time to see Spock’s blink once, but otherwise remain stoic. “I do not belong to anyone.”

Mom looked between Jim and Spock, and with a murmured, “Oh really?” she backed into her room and swept an arm out in welcome. Jim shook his head in bewilderment and went in, and Spock followed.

Jim cleared his throat and motioned towards Spock. “Mom, this is my friend Spock. Spock, this is my mom.”

Mom smiled and held out a hand, “Spock? That’s a unique name. You can call me Winona.”

Spock’s eyes widened and he went statue-still, staring down at Mom’s hand with what Jim could only take as frozen horror. Jim laughed awkwardly and took a protective step in front of Spock, just one shoulder in front of Spock’s in a slight guard.

“Uh, I forgot to mention he’s a hypochondriac.”

Jim could practically _feel_ Spock’s stance loosening beside him.

Mom pursed her lips in a small frown, but when the insinuation clicked, she dropped her hand and grinned amiably. “I hear you, Spock. The world is full of nasty germs. Who knows where I’ve been? In fact, you don’t want to know.”

She winked and Jim, sensing a diffusion of that particular issue, relaxed. He closed the space between himself and his mother, and enveloped her in a gentle hug. Her hair smelled like his memories and her skin like baby powder.

He inhaled once, deeply, and murmured, “Sorry I’m late.”

Mom hummed with amusement and whispered, “A Kirk arrives precisely when he means to.”

Jim laughed and pulled back. “Everyone’s been quoting LOTR to me today.”

“Kiddo, I was reading _Lord of the Rings_ when you were just a glimmer in my eye.”

Grinning like an idiot, Jim wandered to one of the two armchairs that sat squat before two tall windows. He shrugged off his jacket, tossed it over the back and slumped unceremoniously onto the cushion with a quiet, contented sigh.

When he noticed Spock simply standing in the doorway, looking a bit lost, Jim smiled encouragingly – all previous aggravations long forgotten – and waved him over to the second chair. Spock hesitated for a split second before following suit, although he didn’t remove his fleece.

“So,” Mom began with a cheerful smile, as she settled on the neatly-made bed across from them and sat in a meditative pose. “What’s been going on? I’ve never heard of you before, Spock. I’m guessing you’re new to the area.”

Jim flicked a glance to Spock. “His family is from Armenia.”

Spock looked at Jim and said, “I am unfamiliar with the area.”

Mom gasped in pleasant surprise, “Oh – that’s exciting! I’ve never been, although when I was stationed in Germany I badly wanted to visit the Caucasus region. I never had the opportunity to go travelling on my own, though.”

“Stationed?” Spock inquired politely. “You were drafted into the military?”

His long legs crossed gracefully, and Jim found it rather difficult to tear his eyes away from those slim, strong thighs. Oh god – _not the time or the place, Jim_.

Mom’s laugh broke Jim’s Spock Tunnel Vision – that seemed to happen more and more often.

“ _Drafted_? Hell no. I served because I wanted to. I loved being in the Army. There was nothing else I’d have rather done with my life.” Her smile faltered. “I met Jim’s father in Amsterdam. When I got pregnant with Sammy, we finally settled down.”

Jim jumped in before silence could descend. “Spock, did you check out the ceiling? I bet you can guess whose handy-work that is.”

Spock looked up, where over seventy paper cranes of assorted shapes and sizes hung from the ceiling. “You have a peculiar talent, Jim.”

Jim grinned. “That’s what I like to hear. Hey Mom,” he watched her blink away the fogginess in her eyes before he implored, “Why don’t you tell Spock what you saw when you were stationed in Africa. You know – the witch doctor who conjured the devil from the fire? That’s always creepy as hell for Halloween.”

The shadows lifted from Mom’s expression and her tight smile loosened. Without further coercion, she leapt into a series of ‘real’ ghost stories that Jim would imagine had Spock’s eyebrows climbing higher and higher, had he removed his hat.

When Jim’s stomach growled to the point that everyone in the room could hear it, Mom gave him a look of admonishment and then laughed, saying to Spock, “This boy is a bottomless pit.”

Spock slid his inscrutable gaze towards Jim, but there was gentleness around his lips. “Truly?”

Jim lurched to his feet and grabbed his coat. “Ha-ha, guys. So witty, the lot of you. Spock, let’s head out. I think we have some of that minestrone soup left over, and one thing I can’t mess up is grilled cheese.”

Mom frowned. “Actually, there was that one time you set the pan on –”

“ _Mom_.”

“Well – nevermind.” Mom bit down on her bottom lip, but couldn’t hide the fond smile that snuck up. She scooted off the bed and approached Jim, placing her hands on his cheeks. Her mouth turned up faintly. “My little terror. You’ll visit after Halloween?”

Jim mirrored her quiet smile. “I’ll bring a horror movie and you can make fun of me when I jump at the scary parts.”

“Chicken.”

“ _Mmm_ , that makes me hungry.”

Mom raised a brow and dropped her hands. “Get outta here, piglet. And don’t go around claiming to be my favourite son, people might think I’m _crazy_.”

Jim laughed and shook his head. “You married a Kirk. That makes you certifiable.”

He leaned down and placed a quick kiss on both of her smooth cheeks. “Bye, Mama.”

“Bye, baby.” Mom turned to Spock and smiled at him in a way that had Jim growing nervous. “Goodbye, Spock. I have to say, it was incredibly fascinating to meet you. Jim _never_ brings his friends around. I hope we meet again.”

Spock was already standing by the door. He nodded solemnly. “I wish the same. Live lon – goodbye.”

Mom ushered them out into the hallway and gave them a cheerful wave. Once she’d shut the door behind her, Jim and Spock made their way out of the building. Jim paused to say goodbye to Maria, and to promise that he would take pictures of his Halloween costume for everyone to ogle.

Jim took a deep breath of the dry, cool air as they stepped out. The sky was bright blue and cloudless, hovering above the vibrant, rusty shade of the oaks. Their tandem steps crunched on the gravel parking lot as they meandered slowly towards the car. Spock had seemed to forget that he’d wanted to keep his distance from Jim, and once more their arms were just a breath away.

They approached the Jeep, but Spock paused at the door. Jim, half way around the car, leaned against the bumper and cocked his head. “Spock?”

“Your mother...” Spock’s brows drew together as he met Jim’s eyes. “She is more dissimilar to mine than I had anticipated.”

“Uh,” Jim smiled in confusion. “I would think there’d be a pretty discernible difference between a human mother and a Vulcan one, Spock.”

Spock blinked twice, as if startled by something.

Jim narrowed his eyes and took a step towards Spock. “What –”

Spock got in the vehicle and slammed the door, leaving Jim staring at him through the window.

“ _Okaaay_ ,” Jim muttered to himself and crossed to his side of the Jeep. That topic was apparently out of the question, even though _Spock_ had started it.

Fucking hell. _Aliens, huh_? Can’t live with them, can’t –

Jim buckled himself up, fighting back the urge not to grumble under his breath. He stabbed the keys in the ignition and jerked it to life, squealing out of the parking lot and kicking up gravel in his wake.

He flicked on the radio to a decent volume to fill the unsettling silence, but the music wasn’t what was on Jim’s mind.

Why would Spock compare his own mother to Jim’s? Just out of curiosity, perhaps. That was rational. Exploring new life, new worlds and new people, and then juxtaposing them with one’s own culture.

The thing was – Spock wasn’t emotional enough to even _consider_ that his Vulcan mother and a human woman would have much in common. From what little Spock had spoken of his people, Jim could tell he was proud of their logic and total separation from human flaws. Not that Jim believed a word of that shit, but this was about what _Spock_ believed.

Why Spock would try to compare Winona Kirk with... with Mrs. – what the hell was Spock’s last name, anyway? – was kind of ridiculous.

So why had he?

It would only make _some_ semblance of sense if –

“Jim?”

Jim grunted in response and kept his eyes on the road.

“May I make a personal inquiry?”

“Am I allowed to throw a mini-tantrum and shut a door in your face if I choose? Well, that would be kind of hard for me to accomplish while I’m driving, but I’d put it on my list of things to do.”

Spock actually might have shifted uncomfortably in his seat, Jim couldn’t tell. “I apologise for my emotionalism,” he replied in modulated tones. “It was unbecoming.”

Jim was silent a moment before he sighed and snuck a quick look at Spock. When he found the Vulcan already peering at him with those damn pretty eyes, the corner of Jim’s lips twitched.

“Ask your question, Spock.”

There was a lengthy pause beside him, as if Spock were carefully considering his words. “What were the circumstances surrounding your father’s death?”

Jim blinked out at the highway. “Well, it was a late night in Gotham City. My parents and I were going to the opera, when we were confronted in an alley...”

When he realised that Spock was listening intently to his story, Jim resisted the urge to bang his head on the steering wheel.

“I mean – uh –he died in a car accident. Drunk driver. He was heading to the hospital on the day I was born. My brother Sam was in the car with him, but he was – well, he didn’t have a scratch on him.”

In truth, Jim didn’t think about it much. Living without a father was like having a phantom limb – it ached and Jim missed the concept of it, but it wasn’t something he allowed to haunt him on a regular basis. He’d never known the man, after all.

What had plagued him was the effect that Dad’s death had on his mother and brother. But with Sam working out of state and Mom doing well, there was very little need for Jim to linger over the past. He was here now – he was healthy and content. He had friends and family. Life was decent.

Spock’s voice was hoarse when he murmured, “Jim –”

“Oh, I fucking love this song!” Jim cranked the volume and grinned happily as he belted, “ _Oh, oh, oh go totally crazy – forget I’m a lady! Men’s shirts, short skirts_!”

“Jim, this song is about –”

“ _Oh, oh, oh really go wild – yeah – doin’ it in style_!”

“Does this song refer to being a fem –”

“ _Oh, oh, oh get in the action – feel the attraction! Colour my hair, do what I dare_!”

“Jim, please pay attention to the road.”

“ _Oh, oh, oh I wanna be free – yeah! To feel the way I feel_!”

Jim leered at a totally exasperated Spock and winked, “ _Man – I feel like a woman_!”

Spock’s entire face was green. “Horrendously illogical,” he muttered and looked out the window.

Jim laughed until he cried and could hardly see the road.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Spock, are you... scared of Samara?”

“Spock, are you... _scared_ of Samara?”

Jim bit back a smile as he assessed Spock’s profile. At the question Spock sat up straighter, with his spine going rigid as he stared blankly at the television. Previously he’d been almost protectively curling around the flowered cushion he grasped on his lap, his attention riveted on the creepy girl from _The Ring_ on screen.

“Vulcans do not experience fear, Jim,” Spock replied, as if Jim had asked something ludicrous like if Vulcans gave birth to Smurfs.

Jim hummed in amused agreement and shifted on the couch. He pressed his back against the arm of the sofa and slunk down, his feet scooting forward to wedge beneath Spock’s warm thigh. Spock flinched and shot him a look of admonishment, to which Jim merely smiled and wiggled his toes in reply.

Both of them became absorbed into the movie once more – okay, Jim less so, because Spock was _really_ deliciously warm, like a hot water bottle that he wanted to fu –

“I do not understand. Surely someone must be able to provide her with a hair elastic.”

Jim surveyed the scene in which Samara sat in the middle of a padded cell, mumbling devilry from behind her thick curtain of mangy hair.

“You have a point, actually.”

“Of course I do. I would not speak if I did not have a purpose. Such a paradigm of thought must be novel to you.”

“How did I ever survive without your wit to keep me company?” Jim muttered, but smiled at the television.

 _”You don’t want to hurt anyone.”_

 _“But I do, and I’m sorry. It won’t stop.”_

Spock bristled. “She utilises useless, ambiguous statements as an explanation for her actions. I do not experience surprise that she has been institutionalised.”

“Uh huh.” Jim swept a glance over to Spock as his lips curved softly. “Why are you hugging the pillow?”

Said cushion was wordlessly tossed onto Jim’s lap. Jim muffled a laugh into the cushion, but became rather distracted by the faint scent that clung to it. Woodsmoke and snow; _Christmas_. Jim shut his eyes and took a deep, quiet breath.

 _Congratulations, Jim – you’ve officially bordered on creeper_!

Jim grimaced and reluctantly squashed the pillow onto his lap. He looked up to see Spock sitting indian-style, pressed back into the cushions as if he genuinely feared Samara would come through the TV and capture his soul.

It was then that Jim realised Spock actually possessed a rather morbid curiosity. Despite the Vulcan’s protests, he was blatantly perturbed by Samara’s undeniable creepiness – and yet, he couldn’t seem to look away either.

Oh, Spock would love _The Nightmare Before Christmas_. It would suit his not-so-secret film tastes to a tee.

Jim didn’t realise he was smiling like some cartoon character with goddamn hearts in his eyes until Spock angled his chin and slid a look his way.

“Do you wish to speak your mind?”

Jim’s boggled at Spock and shook his head, immediately extracting his toes out from beneath Spock’s leg.

“Ah, _no_.” He chuckled nervously and turned to stare blindly at the movie.

 _Wow_. This was just awesome. When the hell had Jim become a swooning, inarticulate teenager? He was _not_ Bella Swan!

He’d never exactly been the biggest lady’s man – too much ego, a propensity for flouting his intelligence at unnecessary times, way too immature, as well as being deaf, dumb and blind in relationships. But his looks and easy-going demeanour gave him enough experience in the romance department to make him confident in his abilities to nab a lucky guy or girl from time to time.

Yeah - _about that_.

With Spock, Jim was a bumbling mess. All Spock had to do was aim one of those cool, shockingly intelligent stares at Jim, and whatever logic was lurking in the dusty corners of Jim’s mind was thrown out the window. Perhaps it was simply because Spock was unique – mysterious and exciting.

That was a part of it. Jim didn’t like to be bored, and Spock was never monotonous. There was so much to learn about him – so many questions to ask and answers to demand. All of which would probably be promptly ignored, but that only drew Jim closer.

There was Spock’s brain, too. Oh god, that mind – that _vocabulary_ paired with that porn star librarian voice was like a constant over-stimulus to Jim’s senses.

Of course there was also Spock’s appearance. That went without saying – although who would have thought Jim had an elf kink? Okay, well, the rolled-up Legolas poster at the back of Jim’s closet would say otherwise, but that was beside the point.

“Jim?”

Jim snapped back to reality and zeroed in on Spock’s wary gaze. Something in the Vulcan’s eyes had Jim tensing.

“Um?”

 _Articulate as ever, Jimmy. It’s a wonder you ever get laid_.

Spock swallowed. “Are you...” He looked pointedly at the cushion clenched in Jim’s white-knuckled grasp.

Jim sucked in a breath when the punch of realisation hit. Heat crept steadily up his chest and neck. “Wait, are you – are you doing your mutant power thing right now?”

Spock replied in clipped tones, “I am not purposely employing any of my innate skills,” and that adorable little wrinkle appeared between his brows. “It is you who are...”

To Jim’s knowledge, Spock had never failed to finish two sentences in a row. A bold flame flickered in Jim’s gut, warming him straight to his fingertips and leaving him feeling just a little high on Spock’s apparent confusion. Oh, he should think increasingly porny thoughts more often.

“I am what?” Jim inquired innocently. “Am I doing that thing where I exist with excess force?”

Jim’s feet began to slide toward Spock’s thigh again, and his grip loosened on the cushion.

Spock’s jaw visibly clenched. “Your existence does not, as you say, annoy me. Your emotions are merely projecting rather,” he hesitated for a split second, “exceptionally.”

Jim couldn’t help the smile that lit his face any more than he could slow the flutter of his pulse. “Yeah, what emotion is it? Do you know?”

Okay, now he was just needling Spock - but Jim couldn’t pass up an opportunity to niggle his way beneath Spock’s skin. Especially when Spock’s eyes were turning all shades of perturbed and perplexed.

“I,” Spock frowned, his head cocking almost imperceptibly. “I am unable to categorise the emotion. It remains foreign to me.”

Oh. _Oh_.

Lust wasn’t something Spock had overtly experienced before. Jim could only take that to mean... his heart did a little jig, and this time Jim did restrain his smile.

No wonder Spock came off like he had the sexual experience of a Disney heroine – except for Megara, because Jim always thought she was a saucy minx.

Anyway, meandering down that general line of thought: How did Vulcans do the dirty in the first place? Jim had seen enough of Spock – _everything_ , oh yes – to know they were essentially the same all over. But did they have, like, specific mating habits or something?

Jim could only guess that sex was encased in a vault of regulations. For all he knew, Vulcans still wore chastity belts.

Shaking off his ever-running inner commentary, Jim licked his lips and brought his foot forward, until his socked big toe pressed firmly against Spock’s leg. “I’d be willing to give you a lesson in, y’know, human emotion.”

He steadily met Spock’s eyes as his voice dropped an octave. “If you want it.”

No one had ever accused Jim of being subtle. That would be dull.

Spock’s hands curled into loose fists upon his knees as he considered Jim with intentional blandness. “No thank you, Jim,” he replied placidly, as if totally unaffected by the request.

Jim bit back a huff and settled on a cheeky grin. His toes brushed the side of Spock’s thigh and languidly travelled towards his hand.

“Are you sure? A little research never hurt anyone. It’s very - ” Jim paused to wet his lips, and caught Spock staring for a second. “Logical, yeah?”

Spock stiffened. “I have no wish to explore my huma –”

A knock at the door sounded and Jim nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes were wide on Spock’s equally – if not muted – horrified expression.

Jim hissed, “Your _human_ side, Spock? That’s what you were going to say, wasn’t it? What the f –”

Another knock, and then dimly a voice announced, “Package for JT Kirk!”

Jim considered ignoring it, as he pondered pushing Spock to the floor, straddling his hips and demanding answers. Okay, Spock would probably go all Bruce Lee on his ass and destroy him, but it would have been the thought that counted.

Spock had apparently collected himself in record time, because his face portrayed about as much expression as a refrigerator door. He stood in one swift motion, muttered something without meeting Jim’s eyes, and _not_ -ran – he totally ran – from the room.

Jim clenched his jaw and switched off the television, with his mind a maelstrom of coalescing facts and theories. His head was often past the clouds and all the way up in space, but he wasn’t an idiot.

He’d stood on the precipice of something important two days ago in the chilly parking lot. Today, he clung to the crumbling edge, unsure of where the fall would bring him.

Jim stalked to the front door where Gumby gleefully awaited him. Nudging the dog aside with his thigh, Jim yanked open the door and put on a small smile that hurt his face. He barely registered the Aberdeen return address on the package as he signed for it and murmured his thanks.

Leaning back against the door, Jim aimed a narrow look up the stairs where Spock was no doubt hiding. The guy preached a load of bull about the noble, fearless race of Vulcans and yet he reminded Jim of... of a coward.

Or something.

Maybe that was a bit harsh, but Jim was pissed. Impatient with this unending waiting game, aggravated with being left in the dark, frustrated with Spock for giving him _nothing_ when Jim was putting his ass on the line for his protection. Jim hadn’t expected a fucking medal for his actions, but a little light shed on the shadows would make this situation a lot less disorienting.

But what confounded Jim the most was the fact that he cared in the first place. He gave more than a flying fuck. If he was being perfectly honest with himself, Jim gave _a lot_ of fucks – and not just because Spock was some gorgeous specimen of _extraterrestrialism_.

Spock was cutting and clever and curious and complex. And yet, at the heart of him, Jim sensed this simple, naïve softness to his soul that he only encountered with children or the most altruistic people.

So why the hell did Spock have to be such an emotionally crippled hard-ass ninety percent of the time? It wasn’t like Jim was suggesting they braid each other’s hair and share their deepest darkest secrets. He just wanted a _clue_.

 _”I have spoken Standard English for the same length of time as Vulcan.”_

 _”Your mother... she is more dissimilar to mine than I had anticipated.”_

 _“I have no wish to explore my huma – “_

Jim supposed he’d received some, in a way.

So humans were closer to Spock than he’d initially let on, and all signs pointed to his mom. It felt like a stretch to think that Spock was partially human. But then again, Jim would have thought it was _more_ than a stretch had someone informed him he’d be crushing on and sulking over an _alien_ like a _90210_ character.

But if Jim’s theory was accurate and Spock’s mother was human, that just brought forth an avalanche of unanswered questions.

When Jim looked down and realised Gumby had been gnawing and slobbering the corner of the box in Jim’s hands, he couldn’t help but chuckle. He held the package out of the dog’s reach and grinned.

“Come on, man! What did I tell you about eating cardboard? There’s a reason why I dish out for those fancy rawhide bones, you know.”

Smiling weakly to himself to keep from screaming in frustration, Jim ambled down the hall and entered the one room he’d been ignoring the past week – his office.

It wasn’t that he’d wanted to ignore it. He loved his hobby, his sort-of job – but things had been crazy up until now. And, to be begrudgingly honest, Jim hadn’t wanted to tear himself away from Spock for long.

The first thing a person would notice about Jim’s ‘office’ was that aside from the desk and the computer and the chair shoved in the corner, it really didn’t look like much of a classic workspace.

A table took up the centre of the room – okay, it wasn’t actually an honest to goodness table, but a green ping-pong table with the net still on it. Whatever, it did the job. It was littered with Jim’s notes and old magazines opened to pertinent articles, and junk food wrappers that would have his mother cringing.

In one corner laid a pile of scrap metal and a blow torch that Jim certainly wasn’t officially trained to use. Then again, Jim wasn’t particularly legal in anything he did.

Posters and a large tack board adorned one wall. The images mostly revolved around modern windmills gracing the vast emerald hills of Scotland, and some of Iron Man, and another of the periodic table with several of the elements crossed out with big Sharpie-drawn frowny faces.

Something that looked like a car engine was strewn in pieces in another corner. The vague shape of a couch was hidden beneath cardboard boxes filled with mechanical bits and bobs – and that one other box that was Christmas lights Jim had forgotten to put away last year.

There were brown and black scorch marks on some of the walls, and the room smelled akin to a automobile repair shop doused in Febreze.

Jim fucking loved this room. It helped him think like no other place.

The door shut behind him and Jim plopped the box onto the table, atop his notes. He grinned broadly, already knowing what to expect from Scotty. When he ripped past the infernal packing tape and set aside a folded bunch of what looked like blueprints, Jim finally unearthed a small, roughly constructed spherical contraption.

His fusion reactor.

Jim had been fascinated with renewable energy since they did a segment on it in high school. Even the teacher had appeared vaguely disinterested in the notion; claiming that although the premise was genius, it would take years upon years to fully integrate something so complex into everyday society.

Well, Jim kind of took that as a challenge.

And hell, thinking of ways to save the world than to get completely shit-faced and party like a rock star. Okay, Jim actually did both, but his side project had helped to distract him from his more destructive adolescent tendencies.

But in all truth, Jim’s parents had made a difference in the world. They’d both served in the Army for a number of years. What could Jim offer, but for his brain?

He had some crappy online degree from a university he didn’t give a shit about, but the most important things he’d learned had been on his own time. He was not a technically qualified mechanical engineer, but _damn_ if he wasn’t more talented than most of the engineers he came across.

Well, except for Scotty. And that was why Jim had snatched him up from the online community, and they’d been corresponding and collaborating for the last three years.

Turns out they had both been interested in the _future_ of the future of renewable energy. Fusion was, in theory, the cleanest form of energy and totally inspired, but undeniably complex.

Jim and Scotty loved puzzles.

So intent was Jim on Scotty’s blueprints that he was hardly cognisant of the tentative knock on the door. He didn’t even register it as he hunched over the table, pouring over the minute changes Scotty had made in the design of the reactor. This construction was the stuff of dreams; they just needed to calculate how to forge a material that would withstand the DT reaction.

Essentially, they needed to find or create an alloy that would effectively harness the power of the sun.

“I have never entered this room before.”

Jim startled, but covered his reaction by standing straight and stretching his arms lazily in the air. His spine crackled at the base and his shoulders protested the altered position, as Jim eyed Spock in the doorway.

Spock was nervous. He only stated the blatantly obvious when he was emotionally compromised on some level. Also, the way Spock’s eyes lingered everywhere but on Jim told him something too.

Jim didn’t have it in him to be cruel, but he wasn’t going to make this easy either.

“This is my secret laboratory where I perform heinous experiments and bring the dead to life,” Jim replied flatly.

Spock’s gaze flicked through the cluttered room, obviously sorting through Jim’s comment. “You are employing sarcasm.”

“Yahtzee!” Jim’s lips curled to a smirk. “As long as we’re playing the state the obvious game, I have a few things to say.”

Jim wandered towards Spock, pausing halfway. He steadily met Spock’s eyes and refused to back down against the steel wall he came up against. Jim Kirk didn’t respect such obstacles in his path – he vaulted them.

“Your mom is human.”

Spock blinked twice, the only indication that he’d processed Jim’s words. He remained frustratingly mute.

So this was the game they would play, huh? Jim would make a guesstimate and unless Spock refuted his claim it was... true? Maybe. Or perhaps Spock was simply attempting to offer nothing to the conversation.

Jim took a step forward and wet his lips. “You’re hiding this not because you’re ashamed of her – or, if you are, that would be monumentally stupid because being some kind of hybrid makes you all kinds of special and unique in the universe and – shit, where was I? Oh, right. You’re hiding this because having a human as your mother somehow ties in to all of,” Jim waved a hand between them, “ _this_.”

Spock’s fingers curled at his thighs. Jim moved closer, intent on gauging Spock’s stony silence. Something was there, just out of Jim’s reach. He needed to be _in_ that secret space, somehow.

“Because, _because_ ,” Jim furrowed his brow, his mouth unable to properly connect with the speed of his brain, “By admitting she’s your mother, you’re also conceding that you, well, your _father_ – no, I mean Vulcans – through some turn of events, became deeply involved with a civilisation – _a planet_ – that doesn’t belong to you.

“I don’t exactly know _why_ you guys are here, but I’m _so_ beyond done with running hypotheses regarding your... your schemes. For all I know, you’ve been sent here to knock up as many human chicks as possible to implant your Vulcan seed into the Earth’s gene pool or something.”

Spock frowned and opened his mouth, but Jim held up a hand and snapped, “But I do know one thing, Spock.”

Jim closed the distance between them, and noted Spock’s shoulders pulling back to bring his posture straight. Jim wasn’t going to plead or demand answers – he was above begging. But Spock _was_ going to give in – he was going to give _something_ in this relationship, dammit.

“You’re gonna tell me what’s going on, because you’ve been wanting to for some time now - no, don’t even try to argue the point with me, man. From all the shit you’ve told me about your species, Vulcan’s don’t just _slip up_ from time to time. Not like you have, at least. Unless you’re, like, monumentally distracted by my presence, I think you could have held back all those little bread crumbs you dropped for me.”

Jim cocked his head and wet his lips, his gaze latching onto Spock’s impenetrable one.

“But you wanted me to figure this out, didn’t you? Maybe it wasn’t at the forefront of your mind. You weren’t like ‘I’m totally gonna rat out my Vulcan buddies and tell this silly human all of our trade secrets’, but on some level, you – well,” Jim shifted too close to Spock, his gaze wide and imploring. “You don’t want to leave me in the dark, do you? I mean, we’re like... _friends_ or something.”

 _Such_ a cheap move on Jim’s part, but people – and Vulcans – really should be more careful around him. The youngest sibling in the family is always the most manipulative.

Spock’s eyes raked over Jim’s face, his irises too dark and intent. He wasn’t even breathing. Jim could see the stillness of Spock’s chest from their intimate proximity.

Jim banked the brief desire to place his palm on Spock’s chest and soothingly request that he just _breathe_ and relax, and that it was going to be okay, no matter what he was going to say. But there was something overwhelming to the gesture other than its inherent affection. It was also something Jim’s mother would have done; an action committed out of love and concern.

Instead, Jim raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. “So?”

Spock looked to the table in the centre of the room. His attention fell on the miniature fusion reactor. “You are interested in fusion energy.”

“Okay, that was the worst deflection I have _ever_ come across, and I babysit a four-year-old who wants me to ignore the fact that she likes to eat glue.”

“ _Jim_.” Spock’s expression was keen and insistent when he aimed it on him. “Listen.”

Oh. _Oh_. They were still playing the game. Right, okay.

“I thought Vulcans were above speaking in riddles and shit? Isn’t that kind of illogical?”

Spock exhaled a soft sigh, and it was the most human thing he’d done since he’d stepped into the room. Jim worried his bottom lip with his teeth and shrugged. “I mean, yeah. This is kind of my thing, I guess. Renewable energy and all that – the future of a better world.”

“Your aspirations are admirable in comparison to the rampant consumerism of the average human.”

“I’m a regular Captain Planet,” Jim replied dryly. “Hey, you could help. With our powers combined –”

“You would accept the aid of another in this venture?” Spock asked with an arched eyebrow.

“Well, I mean, I’ve got a partner. Scotty – he’s a mechanical engineer in Scotland. Guy is innovative and terrifying as all hell, but no one with any real pull across the Atlantic will hire him. All because of that one little explosion,” Jim trailed off, and idly scratched his chin.

“But, whatever. I mean, he sends me these prototypes,” Jim gestured to the fusion reactor. “And I destroy them and tell him what he did wrong and how he needs to fix it. We’ve got a good system.”

Spock nodded. He rounded the table, and left Jim with a cold void of air where there was once a warm body. “And he is not perturbed that you destroy his work?”

Jim pursed his lips and picked up the reactor; his fingers fondly tracing the smooth, shiny metal and the seams that held it together. “Oh, well, he probably stabs an IV of Glenfiddich to his arm in mourning, but he knows we each play a part in this.”

“And your part involves destruction.”

“Kinda.”

“Explain.”

Jim released a hefty sigh and tossed the reactor to Spock, who caught it deftly. “Well, you can’t just _blow up_ a fusion reactor, right? I mean, people are always confusing fission and fusion. Fission is like, y’know, detonating a _bomb_ and slowing the reaction. Harnessing the domino effect of released energy.

“Fusion reactions – well, we can start ‘em, but we can’t sustain them. There’s no energy there to explode. Except,” Jim’s eyes lit up, “Except I managed it, Spock.”

Spock carefully set down the reactor. “You elicited a combustion using incombustible materials?”

“Damn fuckin’ right I did!”

Jim was practically quivering with excitement. He never got to talk about this stuff with anyone. Nyota and Bones didn’t care, his mother would scold him for blowing shit up in the house – Jim had always had a tendency towards that as a child – and he couldn’t share this discovery with the online science community until he’d gotten to the bottom of everything. Only he and Scotty – and Spock – knew.

“I was fucking around with some metal combos and I got – well, after the smoke cleared and I pulled the shrapnel out of my chin, there was just this charred clump of metal left. And it wasn’t – ” Jim stammered over his words only because he could still hardly believe it himself. He placed his hands on the tabletop and leaned conspiratorially forward. He couldn’t help but grin.

“Spock, it wasn’t a metal that I recognised. I mean, everyone’s been going about this the wrong way! We’ve been utilising metals that we know and trust – but _I_ think... well, I think I’ve _invented_ one.”

Spock nodded. “And now the difficulty lies in reproducing the conditions to recreate the alloy. At that point, you will still be unable to mass-produce the material for a legitimate test in its reaction sustaining abilities.”

Jim grimaced. “Hit the nail on the head. If we could only just,” Jim paused and glared. “Look, don’t think that I’m getting sidetracked here, because as scatterbrained as I might seem –”

Spock looked up from a dog-eared issue of _New Scientist_ magazine with his brows slightly lowered. His voice was warm and almost gruff. “I would never consider you unintelligent, Jim.”

“Oh.” Most people did. “Well, obviously. Anyway, can we _please_ get back to your, y’know, Vulcan stuff? Because this conversation is probably hella boring for you. I mean, I’m sure you guys have already harnessed fusion energy – or, hell, passed it right by, I don’t know.”

Spock murmured, “Yes, I carry the knowledge to solve your conundrum.”’

Jim raised his eyebrows. “Okay. Anyway - your mother was human. Tell me how that happened. Well, not _biological_ aspect of it, if you know what I mean – no graphic details, please.”

Confusion flitted over Spock’s severe expression. “Are you not interested in hearing my solution to your problem?”

“Sure I am, in a way.” Jim shrugged. “But I’d rather figure it out on my own.”

“Curious. I was under the impression that humans would seek out knowledge by whatever means possible.”

“Yeah, well, I know I’m not exactly the type to play by the rules, but asking _you_ for help would kind of go beyond cheating, wouldn’t it?” Jim gestured to the room in general – the notes tacked to the wall, and the charred ceiling that had yet to be painted over from the last explosion.

“Everything I’ve worked for would mean nothing if you just _handed_ me the answer. This kind of stuff,” Jim laughed. “It drives me insane, but it _keeps_ me sane at the same time. D’you know what I mean?”

Spock’s voice was unusually hushed, his gaze downcast. “This work gives you purpose.”

“I – well – yeah.” Jim tugged a hand through his hair. “Basically. Why? You weren’t just going to _give_ me the solution to a life-altering equation, were you? Wouldn’t that be, like, tampering with our civilisation?”

“I merely stated that I had the choice to share the information with you, not that I would do so,” Spock replied and quickly added, “I believe you were concerned with my lineage.”

Jim nodded carefully, his eyes trained on Spock. They were ricocheting between topics faster than an Olympic game of table tennis.

“Let’s move into the kitchen. This is more of a one-man room.”

Spock didn’t argue. Several tense minutes later and they were sitting across from each other at the table, each with a mug of tea before them.

Jim slouched back in his seat and cupped the scalding ceramic in his hands. “So,” he began, deciding he might as well just jump right in as long as Spock was staring at him so patiently. “You’re half human. What’s it feel like?”

Spock quirked a brow, as if that was not the question he had anticipated. “Conflicted.”

“I’d imagine so. That explains a lot, though.”

“I will not sit here and allow myself to be insulted,” Spock replied, in a way that insinuated he wasn’t at all.

Jim’s lips curved. “Such a delicate flower. First the ordeal over one little buckshot wound and now this. I should just encase you in bubble wrap.”

“Jim,” Spock merely said in a perfect imitation of a parent admonishing a child.

“Right, sorry,” Jim replied, his grin utterly unapologetic. He cleared his throat and sobered up enough to seriously inquire, “So your mom, huh? How’d she get stuck with a Vulcan? And before you say it – I’d prefer the unabridged version.”

Spock brought his mug to his lips and sipped before he murmured with a tinge of humour, “I do not believe that Vulcans approach any explanation in an abridged fashion.”

“Yeah, well seeing as you’re only half, you’re obnoxiously talented at it.”

Spock’s lips twitched, but the expression was restrained as quickly as it had come. He leaned forward in his seat, his dark eyes sharp and imploring.

“Before I continue on you must understand that the specific details of my mission are confidential, and that I have no intention of sharing them with you. Regardless of the fact that my assignment has come to an apparent halt due to my stranded position, I cannot divulge the original objective of my visitation to Earth.”

Jim bit down on a smile and lurched forward in his chair, his eyes bright as he propped his chin upon his fisted hands. “But you make it sound so tempting!”

“ _Jim_.” There was that damn tone again.

Jim sighed and rolled his eyes. “All right, all right. Just, can we move the fuck on from all the hazards and warning labels? Because I’m bored.”

Spock closed his eyes for longer than necessary, as if he were willing patience. When he opened them again, it appeared as though he’d unearthed some previously unknown reserve that had been specifically created just for people like Jim Kirk. “As you wish. My mother became first acquainted with my father when he came to this planet and made himself known to her.”

“Like you did with me?”

“Your conclusion is inaccurate in the extreme. My father did not crash. He was specifically sent to engage in a relationship with my mother.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “ _Woah_. Like, a kinky re –”

“And intellectual relationship,” Spock cut in, looking at Jim as if he were one fry short of a Happy Meal.

Jim frowned. “An intellectual relationship. Yeah, okay, in case you haven’t noticed, that’s _still_ not normal. On any level. I mean, in the first place, _why_ –”

“Will you allow me to finish my narrative, or would you like to do as you often prefer? Creating your own brand of truth with the misinformation you seemingly pull from oxygen itself.”

Jim made a face into the mug that he brought to his lips. “I don’t do that. Keep going.”

“You do.” Spock took a sip of tea. “As I was saying, my father’s mission was simple. Make tentative contact with the female Amanda Grayson and offer her knowledge.”

Jim blinked and waited for clarification. When none came, his expression grew dubious.

“Knowledge? What do you mean – you just _hand_ it to her or something? And how was she not totally fucking _freaked out_ by some pointy-eared _alien_ strolling through her back door like, ‘Yo Amanda, we come in peace! Up for a study date’?”

Spock aimed a narrow look Jim’s way. “You oversimplify.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“I have no idea what you are referring to and I have no desire to know,” Spock snapped. “And may I point out that you were not as alarmed by me as you should have been when we first made contact.”

“Yeah, well you were hot and I’m a gay – er, _guy_. A guy,” Jim retorted with a scowl.

 _Women, you also like women. Don’t forget about the tits._

“Whatever, that is _so_ not the point. What I’m boggled by are the glaringly apparently plot holes in the beginning of this story. I mean, how did the Vulcan powers-that-be decide this Amanda chick was someone they wanted to contact? How did you know she wouldn’t run to the nearest gossip mag and sell her story for big bucks?”

Spock was staring into his cooling mug of tea with a blank look, but his voice carried strong and clear.

“Previous to initial contact, we perform extensive research and analysis on the human in question. There must be a ninety percent assurance rate that the candidate will react positively to our presence. They must be of an open mind and above-average intelligence. Amanda Grayson is one such human.”

“And on the off chance that they go ballistic instead?”

Spock inclined his chin and met Jim’s eyes. “We have methods of eradicating the unpleasant memory of our existence from their consciousness.”

Jim repressed a shiver, and curled his fingers tightly around the dwindling heat of his mostly untouched tea. “Like, MIB flashy pens?”

“I am at a loss at how to reply to such a statement.”

“I mean, how do you...” Jim gestured with a hand, but he wasn’t exactly sure what he was motioning in the first place, and so let his palm drop to the tabletop. “How do you make them forget?”

Spock may have sighed. “My reply would lead to further queries that deviate from the topic under scrutiny. We will continue with our previous thread of conversation.”

“ _Bleh_. Fine.” Jim slumped back into his chair again and looked up at Spock with a sulky face. “So how does Daddy Spock meet Mommy Amanda?”

Spock actually did wince this time. “Please do not speak in such a disturbing manner. And I am afraid I am unable to reveal the manner in which he initially contacted her. The pertinent information I can reveal is that my mother reacted positively to my father’s existence, and after a time also became curious about the knowledge my father claimed he was willing to impart on her.”

“What kind of knowledge?”

“I am unable to disclose that information.”

“It was advanced technology stuff, though.”

“In part.”

Jim’s jaw clenched. “Okay, let’s pause and rewind for a second. There’s something I’m not getting. Or maybe I am and I just don’t want to believe that this is your intention.”

Leaning in, Jim matched Spock’s unwavering gaze. Jim was beginning to regret drinking the tea that now roiled in the pit of his stomach.

“I get the whole ‘come in peace’ deal you’ve got going. And I get that you guys are trying to impart your _superior_ knowledge on this _inferior_ race of humans. What I don’t get is the why. Why bother with us? Why go through all the trouble? What are you getting out of this?”

Spock blinked. “Each of your inquiries would take a considerable amount of time to discuss. Can you not simply agree that we understand what is best for your culture to advance and thrive?”

Jim stiffened in his seat. “Not really. I feel like I’ve been thrown into a shitty sci-fi remake of _Pocahontas_. This is where you say, ‘we’ve improved the lives of savages all over the world’ and then I say something about painting with the colours of the wind – I don’t know, whatever. All I’m getting out of this is a bunch of nosy aliens butting in where they’re not welcome.”

Spock actually had the nerve to look down his nose at Jim. “If that is your opinion on the matter, then I believe we have nothing more to discuss.”

He stood and turned, but Jim was already out of his seat and instinctively grabbed Spock’s wrist. “Hold the fucking phone, Spock – we’re not _near_ done here. Finish your damn story.”

Spock whirled on Jim with a dangerous light in his eyes; and the threat in them had Jim reacting the only way he knew how.

Jim gave his best disarming smile. “I want to know if they live happily ever after.”

For a moment they remained completely still. Jim’s fingers encircling Spock’s wrist, the rapid pitter-patter of the Vulcan’s pulse thrumming pleasantly against his skin.

Spock’s expression relaxed minutely, and the kind of hilarious twitch in his left eye had dispersed. “They are content together, I assure you,” Spock replied hoarsely.

Jim hummed in agreement and released Spock. “That’s nice to hear, except we’ve skipped out on the middle. And as much as I like appetisers and dessert, I’m a main course kind of guy. Love me some steak.”

“What does –“

“Tell me, Spock,” Jim began, leaning back casually against the kitchen table. “Let’s say a person agrees to this information download. How exactly do you do it? I mean, you just hand them a USB stick or a pile of textbooks or what?”

Spock shifted and brought his hands to the small of his back. His gaze flicked somewhere over Jim’s shoulder. “We have an efficient way to transfer information.”

Jim waited, his eyebrows raised. “And that is?”

“In Standard English, one would call it a mind meld... Jim? Jim, are you –”

Jim swayed and clenched the edge of the table. “Sorry, um, _wow_. I could have sworn you just implied that you, like, _do shit_ to a person’s _mind_ in order to force our race through a technological revolution that we might not be prepared for.”

Spock frowned faintly. “A mind meld is perfectly safe when one is merely transferring data.”

“ _Merely_?” Jim choked out. He felt a hysterical laugh scrape up his throat. “What – I mean _what_ exactly is a mind meld? What do you do?”

“The act itself is difficult to explain without performing an example.”

This time Jim did laugh, if one could call it that. He held up his hands defensively. “Yeah, you’re not going _near_ my head.”

From what Jim could gather, this mind meld jazz wasn’t right. There was too much in his head – too much dark. Jim was no tortured artist type, but everyone had their secrets and insecurities and pain. No one wanted that kind of shit shoved under a microscope.

Spock raised an eyebrow and replied in clipped tones, “I had no intention of doing so. I am rather assured that if your mind is as volatile as your emotions, I would be mentally accosted in a manner which may be permanently scarring.”

Unsure of whether or not that was a joke, Jim eyed Spock critically. “And your mom – she had no problem with this?”

“No overt issue that I have been made aware of.”

“And your dad just copy-pasted some info into your mom – and then what?” Jim’s questions were growing at an exponential rate; he was actually feeling kind of dizzy with the fury of their reproduction. He was so distracted that he even failed to slip in a ‘your mom’ joke.

“Then,” Spock noticeably paused, as if he were working through something. “While my father was immersed in my mother’s mind, they found each other.”

Again, there was that weird silence that implied Jim was supposed to understand what the fuck Spock was talking about. They’d have to discuss that later.

Jim made an impatient gesture, “ _And_? What the hell does that mean, they found each other?”

Spock looked as if he would shrug. “Their minds were immediately discovered to be superbly compatible. They recognised each other as a mate. When they surfaced from the meld, they were already partially bonded.”

Jim wanted to ask about this bonding crap, but refrained. There was only so much he could take in before he burnt out. But, _still_... still there were things that demanded clarification.

“And your mom is _where_ now?”

“She lives on Vulcan with my father.”

Jim refused to express his surprise. He’d already looked ridiculous enough for one day, even for him. “Vulcan is habitable for humans.”

“Indeed.”

“And she decided to live there.”

“Yes.”

Jim scrubbed a hand over his face. “And did she do anything with that info-dump your dad gave her?”

Spock pursed his lips slightly and glanced to the side. “She did not. She became rather adamant that she return home with my father and begin a new life with him. My mother was unhappy with her familial circumstances on Earth.”

“More criteria of an ideal candidate?” Jim asked with a wan smile.

Spock quirked a brow. “Affirmative.”

This was all a little much, a little soon. Jim only felt lucky that he’d been in more overwhelming situations than this and had handled them with his usual tactless self-assurance. That could be his only crutch right now.

Jim put on his most unimpressed face. “So what you’re saying is that you basically _stalk_ a person from space, find out their life story, then come down and bait them with promises of a better future, download some shit into their head , and – what – ride off into the sunset?”

Spock looked mildly irked, like Jim was a stain he didn’t know how to remove. “I do not believe you have properly grasped our intentions.”

“Yeah, well it’s not like you’ve been the most _linear_ narrator of all time today.”

Jim pushed off the table and used his momentum to get up in Spock’s personal space. Spock didn’t take a step back and Jim only narrowed his eyes. “So, what happens if the person doesn’t want what you have to offer? What then?”

“There exists different protocol for specific situations and individuals.”

“That was a not-answer. You’re good at those.” Jim licked his lower lip and jutted his chin out. “Let’s say you’ve got this total _genius_ whose windows you’ve been peering through for God knows how long. You finally get around to making your contact and he flips out. But you really _need_ him. You think he’s going to make all the difference in the world. What then, Spock?”

Spock hardly even paused before he said, “We would utilise a mind meld to input the data, and afterward, we would erase his memory of us, leaving only the pertinent information in his subconscious for him to discover in his own time.”

Jim’s chest felt tight and his face grew hot. “Are you fucking _serious_?” he rasped. Without warning he placed his hands on Spock’s chest and pushed. “You would just violate a person’s brain like that without any guilt?”

Spock’s eyes went cold and hard as marbles. “As I have iterated, the procedure is harmless.”

“And _wrong_. Not even like gray-area wrong, but totally fucking _creepy_ ,” Jim snarled. “It’s one thing to get permission for this sort of alien shit, but to just waltz in to the only privacy a person has left in life is _sick_ , man.”

Jim’s pitch and speed of speech was quickening and he could do nothing to slow it as he shoved his face into Spock’s.

“And this is why you’re here, right – to potentially mind-rape someone? Who is it? _Me_? Because you’re such as fuck not going _near_ my brain, Sylar.”

Spock’s nostrils flared. “Due to the unfortunate instance of my arrival on the planet, my assigned human is unavailable to me. The mission has gone awry and I have aborted it. As for your brain, Mr. Kirk, I have already expressed my disinterest for what it might hold for me.”

So, that was everything. This was not nearly as entertaining as the movies.

Jim laughed hollowly. “You’re an asshole.” He swept past Spock, sure to bump his iron shoulder as he marched from the room.

Refusing to give Spock the satisfaction of hearing Jim’s office door slam, he shut it quietly, and turned towards the plethora of notes and research spread across the room and table and desk. With a single word, Spock could have given him the answer to everything Jim desired.

He could have patented the design, sold the mysterious alloy for exorbitant amounts of money, paid off his family’s debts, and finally enrolled in MIT or something.

But that wasn’t for Jim. Not only was Spock never planning on telling him – the only reason he’d mentioned it was to catch Jim’s attention – but Jim didn’t _want_ it.

He was a Kirk. Being a Kirk meant you worked hard, earned your keep, and were proud of yourself even when others weren’t. You did what you had to do, and as long as you were happy with yourself at the end of the day that was what mattered.

With that in mind, Jim shoved Spock from his mind and anchored himself in his work. The thing that kept him sane when certain things and people were driving him _insane_.

When he re-emerged from the room it was sometime past midnight and Jim had a crick in his neck that would mean a painful, stiff night of sleep. _If_ Jim was going to be able to sleep at all.

Jim didn’t feel guilty for what he’d said or how he’d reacted – okay, maybe he’d been a bit dramatic, but he was a _Kirk_ , after all. But he did feel drained and kind of... _sad_ that he couldn’t just bust into Spock’s bedroom, and lay at the foot of the bed until he passed out to the sounds of Spock breathing. He didn’t do it every night by any means, but it had been nice to know that he could. Sometimes it was just comforting to _be_ with someone.

With a numb mind and body, Jim trudged up the stairs, nearly tripping over Gumby on the top landing. Gumby scrambled to his feet and looked at him with that little high-pitched whine that told Jim even the _dog_ knew something was amiss – and Gumby was about as intelligent as a goldfish.

“It’s okay, boy,” Jim murmured soothingly, his eyes already half-shut. He ruffled Gumby’s ears on the way to the guest bedroom he was occupying. “Mommy and Daddy still love you very much, even if they’re getting a divorce.”

It was meant as a joke – for whom? The dog? But when Jim realised that Spock could definitely hear into the hall, Jim uttered a choking noise and dashed to his own room, slamming the door behind him.

With a few muttered self-deprecating remarks, Jim yanked off his t-shirt and tossed it to the floor. He was tugging on his flannel pyjama bottoms in front of the window when he spotted something on the glass and froze.

Jim whimpered – he legitimately made a girl’s noise when he saw the large, imposing spider idly chilling on the glass. _Inside_ Jim’s fucking _house_.

Ignoring the goosebumps that had graced nearly every inch of his skin, Jim took a step back, muttering to himself, “Kill it kill it, oh my god kill it.”

Of course Jim couldn’t, because he was too busy slowly backing away in hopes that he didn’t alarm the spider.

And then the unthinkable happened.

It jumped on him. Fucking _hopped_ on his chest like the very devil himself, if he were a jumping spider.

Jim didn’t scream – not really – it was more the high-pitched keen that only Flipper and Lassie could hear as he slapped as his torso, and swept the eight-legged hell-beast off of himself and onto the bedspread.

He was looking around the room for, like, a _broom_ – something that would involve killing the spider but not actually going near it – when Spock burst through the door with his eyes wide.

“Jim, are you well?”

“What?” Jim stared dumbly at Spock, who was wearing one of Jim’s shirts with a large Pi printed on the front and Budweiser flannel pyjamas bottoms that Jim never thought Spock would actually wear.

Jim swallowed, his eyes darting from Spock to the bedspread. “Yeah Spock, I’m – uh – I’m all right.”

 _For fuck’s sake, don’t mention that you’re scared of spiders_.

Spock took a tentative step towards Jim. “You do not appear so. I heard you utter a rather inhuman noise.”

“Oh, _that_.” Jim giggled out of pure nerves. “It’s nothing – just a little surprise. A spider, that’s all.”

Spock raised his brow. “An arachnid?”

“Yes, well, it was a _jumping_ spider, Spock.” Jim realised he was currently topless and although that was really no big thing, he promptly folded his arms across his chest.

Spock appeared unperturbed by the nudity. He actually looked more concerned than anything. Jim must have looked really pathetic. “Where is it, Jim?”

Jim gestured with his head. He didn’t even want to look. “The bedspread.”

“I will capture it and set it free outside,” Spock replied with a finality that surprised Jim.

“Can’t you just kill it?” Jim asked, probably a bit too plaintively.

Spock sent Jim an admonishing look, and they almost felt normal together. “No. I would not harm another being unless it was completely necessary.”

“Oh.” Jim watched as Spock took an errant sheet of junk mail and brought it over to coax the spider on to.

Jim leaned forward to peer at the progress when the spider _fucking jumped on him again_. Jim yelped and stumbled backwards in his attempt to swat the spider free with whatever dignity he had left. The little beast was flung to the floor, and before Jim could even run to the other side of the room and jump out the window or something Spock had picked up a shoe and crushed it in one loud _smack_.

For a weirdly extended span of time they were silent – yeah, another one of those quiet moments that Jim was starting to think meant more than he had first assumed – and it was Jim who spoke first.

“Uh, I thought you wanted to keep it alive. Released into the wild and stuff.”

Spock swallowed and straightened his posture, concentrating more on Jim’s forehead than anything. The apples of his cheeks coloured faintly. “The arachnid was posing a threat and you were in distress. I would not allow that to continue.”

“Ah...” Jim used all of his willpower not to smile – which he realised was actually kind of difficult even when he was meant to be upset with Spock.

“Well, thanks anyway for abandoning your bug-murdering morals for me. I’m kind of irrationally weird about it because of this one time I was in Boy Scouts, and a jumping spider leapt onto my face and tried to scurry into my nose. I was never the same after that, let me tell you.”

 _Wow Jimmy, cool story – tell another one, you charming prince_.

Spock was pressing his lips together tightly, his gaze darting between Jim’s face and the door. He couldn’t have been clearer that he wanted to leave right now. Jim couldn’t blame him, after today. It was now obvious why Spock had been reluctant to share anything of his mission with Jim.

Thinking on it, the entire situation was a lot greyer than Jim had previously imagined. Not that he agreed with it any more than he did before – just, he forgot what kind of culture Spock came from. Their morals wouldn’t be similar to Jim’s, or to anyone on this planet’s, really.

Jim couldn’t just _yell_ and expect Spock and his pals to get the message. Who knew how long they had been operating like this. They’d obviously had time to think it through and decide on this particularly course of action, no matter how shady Jim considered it to be.

Of course Jim wasn’t going to just _leave_ it this way. He had a chance to make some kind of difference here. Maybe change Spock’s outlook and start the ball rolling with whatever Vulcans would be willing to hear Spock out.

Jim had his own mission now. He could change things. He was nothing if not obnoxiously tenacious.

Spock uttered a short huff of breath that caught his attention, just in time for him to note Spock’s gaze tracing Jim’s bare shoulders. Spock’s voice was unusually rough. “You may... you may take refuge in my room until I have disposed of the remains. If you are amenable to the suggestion,” the last words rushed out like Spock was expecting Jim to shut a door in his face.

This time Jim couldn’t hold back his sunny smile. “Yeah? Okay, thanks! I’ll just – wait no, I need my Snuggie,” Jim mumbled as he snatched up his hideous fleece blanket and hurried by Spock.

As Jim brushed by he thought he heard Spock hum a small noise at the back of his throat, but Jim was already out in the hall and barging into the master bedroom before he could analyse it.

Jim flopped on to the large bed with a sigh, with his head on the pillow and his body and face haphazardly covered by his Snuggie. Before he could start fussing and fretting over the drama of the day, Jim promptly passed out into oblivion.

Seconds – minutes – some time later, Jim’s slumber was infringed by the lurching of a weight upon the mattress, as someone leaned in towards him.

Weaving in and out of that hazy fog of exhaustion, Jim only caught, “– upset with me.”

Jim scrunched up his face in displeasure, and his heavy lips managed to form a short _shush_. He flung out a hand and ended up dropping it none-too-gently on what felt like Spock’s slightly stubbly cheek.

“ _Slup_.” Jim ordered Spock to sleep, and went under before he could hear a reply.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was totally warranted for a grown man to yelp like a girl when he woke up to find an alien staring directly at him. Jim refused to think otherwise.

It was totally warranted for a grown man to yelp like a girl when he woke up to find an alien staring directly at him. Jim refused to think otherwise.

To his credit, at least he didn’t flail and roll out of the bed. Instead Jim remained curled on his side, his heart beating like techno music as he met Spock’s unflinching stare in the hazy purple twilight of morning. Spock was snuggled beneath the comforter while Jim had remained on top, but curled under his hideous Snuggie.

“Hey.”

“Hello.”

Jim was suddenly, and inexplicably, reminded of the days when he thought he could get pregnant from sleeping in the same bed with another person. Actually - why had Jim worried about that in the first place? It wasn’t like _he_ was going to get pregnant.

That was probably why his friends had looked at him strangely when Jim had refused to sleep head to toe at sleepovers.

See, _those_ would have been the useful times to have a present mother. To y’know, let her son know that he couldn’t get pregnant or impregnate from sharing Thomas the Tank Engine bedsheets.

Jim was glad that period of severe and traumatising misapprehension was rather short.

Spock blinked sleepy eyes. “You are the only human whom I have felt the urge to comprehend what he is thinking, and yet I do not believe that I ever will.”

Jim pulled his fleece over his mouth – morning breath – and muffled a yawn before he replied. “Why? Because I’m insane?”

It wouldn’t be the worst thing he’d been called. In fact, in certain contexts it was kind of a compliment.

Spock’s lips turned down faintly. “No. Because you simply... exist on a different plane of cognisance from myself.”

Jim was pretty sure that sounded like insane.

He sputtered a laugh, and was thankful for the blanket because he’d probably have spit on Spock’s face by accident. He boggled at Spock. “It’s _way_ too early for that kinda talk. Like, ass-crack of dawn too early. Did you even sleep, or have you been up all night pondering the meaning of James T. Kirk in the universe?”

When Spock didn’t react to the joke or even reply, Jim sighed and scratched his cheek. “You did sleep, didn’t you?”

Spock looked down, appearing a little lost for a second. Goddammit, why did he have to be so adorable and edible _all_ the fucking time? Jim was not exactly known for his patience.

Jim mirrored Spock’s frown. “You didn’t sleep. You feel guilty about telling me all that stuff yesterday.”

Spock’s gaze snapped up to Jim’s, chilly as the morning frost. “Guilt is a useless emotion. One cannot redo one’s actions, and so to regret or lament the past is a misuse of time and energy.”

“So why do you look like you want to apologise?” Jim murmured.

The events of the previous day chucked away the pleasant sluggishness of sleep. and He could quite clearly recall all the shit that went down, and all the things that bothered Jim about Spock’s presence on Earth.

There was also Spock’s expression when he’d burst into Jim’s room, all gung-ho to save him from a stupid fucking _spider_. And there was how he looked now, like he couldn’t sleep for the guilt of – of whatever it was about his mission that particularly hung over him.

There was that time Spock allowed Jim – after copious coercion and name-calling – to try and throw popcorn into his mouth from across the couch. And the day Spock had attempted to do the laundry and the entire hall flooded with bubbles, and all Jim could do was laugh until he slid to the floor.

There was the night when they’d sat on the porch looking to the stars while freezing their asses off and drinking hot cider. Jim had tried to be romantic by pointing out a particularly bright star, after which Spock calmly stated that it was indeed a _satellite_... but that it looked appealing nonetheless.

And after all that and every fucking thing they’d been through the past couple of weeks – well, Jim couldn’t be totally angry with him. Make no mistake, Jim would still do his utmost to change Spock’s position on treating humans like living computers that needed a new hard-drive. He wasn’t going to agree with this alien insanity just because of _That Spock Thing_.

But damn if he could treat Spock like a monster or a stranger.

Spock currently stared at Jim as if he were Samara himself – like Jim had spouted the most terrifying rendition of ‘you will die in seven days’ or something.

Jim smiled uneasily from behind the blanket. “No? Okay, maybe not. Fair enough. But just so you know, I’m not gonna apologise for my side of this either. I think whatever you’re doing here is monumentally _stupid_ , and that every space movie in the history of ever has proved to us that unnecessary involvement with other races always leads to tears, green bloodshed, and sometimes the switching of heads on to different bodies.”

Spock’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t shift from his position some meagre inches from Jim’s face. “We would never physically alter you.”

“Um, you might as well be. But whatever.” Jim waved the topic off with a sigh. “I need to get up.”

“I will join you,” Spock replied immediately and sat up, with one side of his head sporting dishevelled, almost vertical hair. He shivered against the chilly onslaught of morning air.

Jim bit down on a laugh and pushed off the mattress into a sitting position. His head sloshed a bit as he swayed in place and blinked his grubby eyes at Spock. “Really? You’ll freeze.”

Spock regarded Jim like he was a particularly slow child. “I have the ability to regulate my core temperature.”

“Oh, well then ex _cuuuse_ me!” Jim replied with a good-natured laugh and grabbed the corner of a pillow. He thumped Spock upside the head with it. “Get up, Mister Spock – that’s an order! No dallying or bitching when you can’t feel your hands and you smell of animal shit. You asked for this, and I’m far too lazy to pretend to be proud and refuse the help.”

They dressed in their separate rooms and met in the hallway. Jim critically inspected Spock’s attire – the t-shirt under Henley, under plaid shirt. Classic Warmth Combo.

“You’re learning well, Padawan.”

Spock was about as still as a snowman and _far_ less merry.

Jim cleared his throat. “Uh, ignore me. I don’t have a filter this early in the day.”

Spock flicked an eyebrow. “At what time do you possess this filter? I believe I would enjoy experiencing the phenomenon.”

“Hardy- _har_ ,” Jim replied with a light elbow to Spock’s side. “Let’s get to work, smart-ass.”

They bundled up in jackets and Spock put on his hat and gloves before they meandered out the back door. Their footsteps crunched on the morning frost, and Jim whistled a tune that may or may not have been ‘The Thong Song’.

The moon still hovered on the horizon, a thin fading sickle against the glowing dawn. The world was silent but for the sound of his and Spock’s breathing. Jim didn’t require silence all the time, but here beside Spock - cold outside but toasty within - yeah, that was nice.

Jim opened the massive barn door just a crack and slipped in, with Spock following close behind him. One of the horses – a dappled grey mare named Guinevere – whined and stomped at the sight of Jim.

“Good morning beautiful,” Jim crooned smooth and low. He approached the horse and reached up to firmly pet her velvety neck. Guinevere thumped her head none-too-gently against Jim’s chest, and he chuckled and gave her a kind of hopefully-inconspicuous hug that he hoped Spock wouldn’t notice. The last thing he needed was to be found out as a weirdo sentimental horse-hugger.

Jim looked over his shoulder to Spock. He had yet to take Spock to officially meet the horses, and now was as good a time as any.

Except Spock still stood in the doorway, openly inspecting Jim and the horse.

Jim grinned crookedly. “You scared of horses?”

Spock blinked and seemed to snap out of his thoughts. “Do not ask foolish questions,” he replied curtly. He didn’t move from the entrance.

“Aw, but those are the most fun ones. Did you ever hear the one about how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?”

“I – are you speaking in code?” Spock asked with deadpan sobriety.

Jim threw his head back and laughed for a moment, and Guinevere stomped her hooves softly in the hay. He gave her an absentminded pat, and then approached Spock with as much care as he had the mare. Jim’s lips curved faintly as he reached out a hand for Spock’s gloved one.

“Come on, it’s just between us anyway. You know I’m shit-scared of spiders, and I know you’re creeped-out by girls with long, unwashed hair - although, who can blame you? Fuckin’ hippies. Where was I? Oh yeah.”

Jim kept his hand outstretched and wiggled his fingers playfully. “Come and meet Guinevere. She’s a friend of mine.”

Spock looked between Jim’s hand and his face with a wrinkle of doubt marring his brow. His mute sigh was only evident by the faint gust of ghostly breath that emerged from his lips. Spock’s hand – warm even through the gloves – slipped into Jim’s.

“You keep bizarre company,” Spock said quietly.

Jim squeezed Spock’s hand and winked, his heart doing cartwheels. “I like to keep things interesting.”

Guinevere warily considered Spock as he and Jim approached together. Jim murmured coddling words to the mare, and tugged once on Spock’s hand before releasing him.

“Just hold out your hand to her,” he encouraged with a smile.

Spock did so immediately, even though the nerves in his eyes shone clear as day. At some point, as Spock walked the few steps across the barn, he must’ve decided it was unbecoming of a Vulcan to be unnerved by something as simple as a horse.

Guinevere sniffed Spock’s gloved fingers and snorted, shaking her head from side to side.

Spock put his hand down and looked at Jim with a slight frown, as if asking, _She doesn’t like me?_

Jim pressed his lips together, bottling up a laugh. “Um, I think she’s jealous of you, Spock.”

“Animals do not have feelings, Jim.”

Jim held a hand to his heart. “Now I _know_ that Vulcans can lie, because _this_ is coming from the man who I found sneaking Gumby food underneath the table!”

Spock was all innocence and poise. “He was uttering noises of clear distress. It would have been remiss of me to ignore his apparent hunger. Perhaps you should feed him more often.”

Jim was strangling on a laugh, when he felt something warm and alive bump his calf.

“Gorn!”

“ _Where_?” Spock asked, suddenly going tense.

“Um.” Jim grinned and hefted up a _massive_ tabby cat. “Here?”

Spock eyed the cat with distaste. “Jim, that is not a Gorn.”

Jim blinked owlishly, and Gorn wriggled out of his grip with a disgruntled yowl. “I don’t know what _you’re_ talking about, but that’s my cat Aragorn.”

“Ah.” Spock noticeably relaxed. “I see.” He shifted to peer at the tomcat, who was wandering towards the cracked open doorway. Spock frowned. “He is deformed.”

“What?” Jim furrowed his brow. “No he’s not.”

Spock stared at Jim drolly. “Surely you have noticed that he is in possession of only three legs.”

“Well, he’s got a tripod thing going,” Jim said with a shrug. “It works for him – adds character.”

Spock’s eyebrow rocketed up. “How did he come to misplace his leg?”

“He was born that way,” Jim replied with a grin as Aragorn slipped away. “He was the last of the neighbour’s litter.”

“I can understand why.”

Jim considered Spock with his head cocked. “Really? I never could. Aragorn’s the best mouser in Iowa, and he could kick a four-legged alley cat’s ass any day.”

“But he is technically a deficient member of his species,” Spock insisted, a strange light in his eyes.

Jim opened his mouth to make a joke about mutants or something, but noted the pained expression beneath that perfect veneer of calm.

“Spock,” Jim rasped and took a step towards him. “Everyone is fucked up in some way. We’re all missing some equivalent of a leg. That’s life. You either find a way to fix yourself, or find a friend who’s willing to be your extra arm, leg, heart – whatever.”

Jim grinned and clapped Spock on the back. “And hell, I bet you’d be uglier if you weren’t half-human, so there’s always that.”

Spock frowned, but the shadows had fled his eyes. “You are implying that I am ugly now.”

“Well we can’t all be _me_ , now can we?”

“Fortunately.”

Jim aimed a wry smile at Spock, and then put him into hard labour for the next two hours. Not exactly the _hard labour_ Jim was honestly hoping for, but it would certainly do for now.

Spock didn’t exactly take to farm work like a duck to water, but Jim was glad for the aid. He hadn’t enjoyed a partner in this labour since Sam had left home. Sure, it turned out Spock was mildly allergic to hay and wouldn’t stop these dainty sneezes that horrified him – but he was diligent and didn’t argue with any duty Jim asked him to perform. By the end of their chores, Jim and Spock were actually working like a rather well-oiled machine.

After they’d headed inside and showered and dressed for the day, Jim found Spock in the office; peering silently down at the blueprints with a crinkled brow.

Jim remained in the doorway. He didn’t want to walk into that room – not when the bad vibes of the previous night still clung to the walls. Jim didn’t want that on him right now. His ex-therapist would have called this classic avoidance – skirting the issue, making everything into a joke, changing the subject from the things that really mattered – but Jim could not give less of a fuck. He wanted to enjoy his day and was determined to do so.

Taking a bracing breath, Jim put on what he intended to be a carefree smile and said, “Hey Spock! Guess what?”

Spock looked up at Jim and blinked, but didn’t reply. Jim was well used to that by now.

“It’s another Jojo day!”

Spock actually seemed to cheer up. About fifteen minutes later, they were re-bundled – Spock with his ears very firmly covered in an awful plaid hunting hat straight out of _The Catcher in the Rye_ – and heading off to Bones’ little bungalow in the centre of town.

Technically, Bones could probably afford a five-day a week daycare for Joanna – what with the being one of only two pediatricians in the city, and getting help from child-support checks. But once Jim had gotten close to Bones – or as close as he’d been allowed at the time – Jim had insisted on taking on some of the load.

If not just because Joanna clearly adored Jim, but because Jim enjoyed the companionship of both father _and_ daughter. They were like family to him now.

And hell, that was a couple more bucks to put in Joanna’s college fund.

Jim squealed to a halt at the curb in front of Bones’ home and unbuckled his seatbelt. “I’ll be right back,” he said to Spock and ran up to the porch, leaving his car door open and the engine running.

Joanna opened the door on the first knock. She hung on the doorknob and grinned up at him with messy bedhead and purple overalls. “Hi!”

Jim crouched before Joanna, inspecting her with mock sobriety as he absently signed and said, “Did your daddy say you could open the door? What if I’d been an evil queen coming to sell you apples?”

A familiar voice grumped from down the hall, “I said she could. Now get your ass in here, you’re letting in the draft. You think I get heating for free? I’m a doctor, not a millionaire!”

“Don’t blame me for that,” Jim replied as he scooted in and shut the door behind him. “You were the one who didn’t call your lifeline. I totally knew who the first Latvian president was.”

Bones popped his head out of the kitchen, only to glare at Jim with a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. He didn’t even have the decency to berate him _after_ he’d finished chewing. He signed to Joanna to put on her shoes, and she scampered off.

Jim wandered into the kitchen and leaned on the doorframe, as he watched Bones expertly knot his tie and look miserable about it. He really did hate uniforms. Jim shoved his gloved hands into his jacket pockets. “So, I’m taking Jojo to the pumpkin patch today. There’s that corn maze and hayrides and candy apples and stuff. It’ll be a blast.”

“Yes, you may take my daughter to a large grouping of sneezing strangers, thanks for asking.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “You have to let her have fun once in a while, old man.”

“I said yes, didn’t I?” Bones snapped, but he didn’t look particularly perturbed. He smoothed his tie down and shoved the last large bite of toast in his mouth.

Now was Jim’s time to pounce. “Oh, _also_ my friend Spock is coming along. I know we told you he’s from Narnia, but he’s actually kind of my new friend who’s staying with me for a couple of weeks while he’s in the state.”

Jim kept talking as he watched Bones chew and choke on his toast. “Don’t be pissed that I didn’t tell you – I genuinely didn’t think he’d be staying as long as he has. But he’s kind of on a foreign exchange type thing, and the family that was gonna take him in bailed on him at the last second – I don’t know, their house is getting fumigated or something – and I offered to let him stay.”

Oh the _lies_ , the lies! Jim was definitely going to Hell. Or his nose was going to get very long – which would be a shame, because his nose was sexy as far as noses go.

“What the _fuck_ , Jim?” Bones sputtered now that he’d cleared his airway. “No way in hell my daughter is hangin’ out with some foreigner that I haven’t even _met_.”

“Bones, he’s totally harmless. Like, he’s a vegetarian nerd who doesn’t even know how to swear, okay? He’s safe. Jojo might as well be hanging out with Mr. Rogers.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jim pouted, his eyes pleading. “Oh, come _on_! Did you hear any complaints from Jojo? I bet you didn’t. I bet her imaginary friend got fucking _rave_ reviews.”

Bones busied himself with collecting plates and glasses from the kitchen table, and then whirled to dump them in the sink with a loud clatter. He gripped the lip of the counter, and stared out the window into the backyard.

He grunted. “She said he painted her nails. I’d figured it was you but you always end up painting the whole hand by accident and then lying that it’s just the ancient art of henna. Hers were perfectly done.”

“See, Spock’s an excellent manicurist, too. Can he do no wrong?”

Bones sighed and turned, his arms folded across his chest. “If he _does_ I’ll skin ‘im.”

Jim lit up with a smile. “You won’t regret it! We’ll just go n–“

“Lemme meet ‘im,” Bones grumbled, as he downed the dregs of his coffee from a chipped Garfield mug.

Jim refused to look nervous as he smiled. “Yep, sure, okay – he’s just in the car.”

Moments later Bones was leaning into the car and inspecting Spock with a critical eye, while Jim and Joanna waited hand-in-hand behind him. Bones drawled, “You Jim’s date or somethin’?”

Spock didn’t even blink. Somehow he managed to appear imposing in a stupid hunting hat – must be an alien thing. “No. Are you?”

Bones sputtered, “W-what the hell are you talking about? Of course not!”

“I see. I was under the impression we were making inquiries with no basis of relevance to the subject.”

Bones flung a look over his shoulder and mouthed to Jim, _Who is this guy_?

Jim signed in reply, _Be nice_!

Bones rolled his eyes and looked back to Spock. “And what do you think _is_ of relevance to the subject, Spock?”

Jim couldn’t see Spock’s face, but he could hear the professor-tone he put on. “I can logically conclude that you are concerned with your daughter’s safety in my presence.”

“That’s exactly right,” Bones replied and squared his shoulders. “Now, I’ m gonna go out on a limb here, and trust Jim when he says you’re not some kind hooligan –”

“Bones – _hooligan_ , really? I don’t think anyone’s used that word since nineteen fifty-two.”

“Shove it, Jim. _Spock_ ,” Bones snapped, his finger jutting out to point across the seat. “If I get wind of any funny business I swear to god I will cut off your –”

“ _All_ -righty!” Jim chimed in and clamped a hand on Bones’ shoulder. “Way to show Spock that America believes in guilty until proven innocent. We’ll just be on our way now.”

Bones grunted and aimed a meaningful look towards Jim. “Can’t trust no one these days, kid.”

Jim supposed the recent divorcé would view the world like that. “I gotcha, man.” Jim smiled empathetically and hefted Joanna into his arms. “But everything’s gonna be fine – I promise. In fact, I think Jojo kinda _loves_ Spock from Narnia.”

Or maybe that was Jim projecting. Fucking therapists and their stupid jargon.

Bones was eventually extracted from the Jeep and its new passenger – not without one final glare that would have Darth Vader shaking in his boots – and Joanna was secured in the back car seat.

The trip to the pumpkin patch was full of the Twenty Questions game – which everyone soon learned was impossible to play with Spock, because he guessed everyone’s thoughts within a couple of minutes. Jim pinned Spock with an arch look that implied he was totally cheating with his telepathy. To which Spock replied with an expression that said, _Suck on my logic, bitch_ – or something more Vulcan-appropriate.

It was another crisp, cloudless day when they stepped out of the car and strolled towards the small faire in the middle of endless cornfields. Jim held one of Joanna’s mittened hands and she insisted that Spock hold her other one.

Of course this was all a clever ploy so she could lift her feet, swing and flip between the two of them like they were a living jungle gym. Initially Spock looked more than a little befuddled by this, but it didn’t take long for his features to relax and his expression to clear. Since this morning he’d been – understandably – distracted, but right now he looked cold and happy.

Children were scampering through the sea of cheerful orange pumpkins with their mothers and the occasional father in tow. It was a Friday morning, and so it wasn’t too packed or noisy. Mostly just the usual stay-at-home moms... and the twenty-something-year-old dude and his alien.

Jim and Spock strolled behind Joanna, who continually hurtled and climbed over pumpkins rather than actually choosing one. Spock surveyed the scene with his characteristic coolness.

“May I inquire as to the purpose of this outing?” he asked in a low undertone reserved for Jim’s ears only.

“For fun,” Jim replied simply. When he got a blank look in return, Jim just smiled and shook his head. “Around Halloween loads of people buy pumpkins. Most of the time you hollow out the middle and carve a face in it, then put it on your front porch or whatever.”

Spock’s frown was miniscule. “To what end?”

Jim shrugged. “Nowadays people tend to put the pumpkin out to signify that they’ll serve trick-or-treaters.”

“What is trick-or-treating?”

“Okay, not to be culturally insensitive or anything –”

“That would not be difficult for you,” Spock interrupted dryly.

Jim rolled his eyes and repressed a smile. “As I was _saying_ – shouldn’t you know this kind of stuff? I mean, your mom was human, yeah? I’m assuming she’s had her fair share of Halloweens, unless maybe she was like from Europe, and in that case nevermind. But since Vulcans apparently know _so_ much more than us, shouldn’t you be well-versed in the cultures that you’re planning on altering? It’s kind of a broad statement to just say, ‘Hey, you’re all stupid and outdated – let us fix you’?”

Spock’s step faltered, but there was no hint of recognition on his face as he kept his gaze glued on Joanna toddling in front of them. “I am but one being, Jim. It is hypocritical and ethnocentric of you to assume that I would know everything about yours and every other culture on this planet. I am confident that _you_ are not aware of every cultural tradition in the world. Why should I be?”

“ _Um_.” Jim shot a glare Spock’s way. “How about because you’re fu–” Jim paused and looked around at the field full of kids and soccer moms. “How about because you’re _messing_ around with our planet? You’re all super-geniuses, right? Then _learn_ about us before you write us off.”

Spock graced Jim with what would be a baleful expression on anyone else. “I am confident that my superiors have done their research, Jim. I am merely a soldier.” His voice dropped an octave – secretive. “And may I reiterate the point that we have never harmed your people. We are giving you opportunities to be a better world. Safer, more intelligent, and ultimately wiser.”

Jim laughed bitterly, crossed his arms over his chest, and slowed his walk so that Joanna would be farther from the discussion. “You can’t _force_ wisdom, Spock. Nor can you really impose intelligence. Downloading info into a person’s brain doesn’t make them any more brilliant or clever. It makes them a living hard-drive – a vessel that never worked for what they know, but just allowed it to be injected into them like some kind of viru _oah!_ ”

Two young boys, distracted by a game of tag, barrelled into Jim’s side as they rocketed by without a care that Jim was toppling over. His arms pin-wheeled for purchase, grabbed a hold of the front of Spock’s jacket and – _OOF_. The wind knocked out of Jim’s lungs as he landed atop Spock in a heap of tangled limbs and already-bruising skin and soft, dry lips – _what_?

Jim’s eyes flew open and he found himself looking into Spock’s wide, surprised gaze – and yes. _Yes_. Their lips had somehow joined in an awkward kiss _that was only meant to happen in rom-coms, dammit_.

Honestly, how the _hell_ was this Jim’s life?

With impressive speed for someone so lazy, Jim scrambled off Spock and stumbled to his feet. He licked his lips in an instinctive reaction to gather Spock’s taste, but no flavour lingered at his mouth. Probably for the best.

Noting that Joanna had stopped to sit on a pumpkin and giggle uncontrollably at them both, Jim resolutely mustered up a sunny smile and held out a hand to Spock. “Well, I guess that puts a new spin on ‘kiss and make-up’.”

With a shuttered, dark expression, Spock stood on his own and efficiently brushed at his clothes. His cheeks were a brilliant shade of green.

Jim chewed on his bottom lip as he watched Spock with what he hoped wasn’t apparent concern. “Um, are you okay, man? That was an accident, you know. I hope I didn’t – I don’t know – spoil your Vulcan sensibilities or invoke the right of _Claw-Plach_ or something.”

That got Spock’s attention. Talking total bullshit usually did. He cocked his head at Jim as he readjusted his hat over his ears and eyebrows. “ _Claw-Plach_?”

“Yeah, it’s this hilarious thing from _Futurama_ where –“

“I did not enjoy that television programme,” Spock replied. Apparently he was happy to look past their little incident as much as Jim. “It was incredibly unrealistic.”

Jim chuckled and was about to say something about how Zapp Brannigan reminded him of himself, but Joanna was jumping up and down in the distance beside Iowa’s largest pumpkin and claiming it as her own. Jim and Spock approached her, and already Jim was kind of wary if he could even pick up this pumpkin in the first place.

But Spock merely hefted it in his arms and asked where he should take it. Jim felt his legs turn to Jell-O with the display of strength – and once against had to remind himself that he wasn’t a _chick_ to be wooed with impressive exhibitions of brawn.

Dammit, there would be no wooing at all!

Jim scrounged his wits together and they went into the barn that served as a makeshift Halloween shop. After paying for the Pumpkin of Epic Proportions, they stowed it away in the Jeep and headed back to the faire for more festivities.

Joanna got to feed the llamas while Spock sniffed distastefully at them. He proved equally disinterested in any of the petting zoo animals – even being _near_ the adorable little ponies was out of the question. But when Joanna held out a hand full of dry corn for a grumpy black goat and it snuffled it up from her hand, her giggle brought a twitch to Spock’s lips.

Jim and Joanna gorged themselves on candy apples while Spock nibbled on his first corn-on-the-cob. Eventually Jim and Joanna ended up on a sugar-high that had them running and screaming and playing tag through the cornfield maze. Spock couldn’t be cajoled into joining, and so sat on a bench with a line of disinterested mothers.

Jim marched from the field with a triumphant spark in his eye and a bright flush to his face, with a gleefully shrieking Joanna slung over his shoulder.

“I’m officially awesome and never lose at anything,” he announced as he wandered up to Spock. “Let’s get this monster back to our place. Ten bucks says she’s gonna conk out in the car.”

Spock blinked at Jim for a moment, as if he’d seen something unexpected. Jim frowned and rubbed at his mouth. “What, something on my face?”

“No,” Spock replied quietly – his eyes falling to Jim’s lips for an instant – and stood. “I am prepared to depart.”

Jim brushed off Spock’s reticence as him being his usual weird alien self, and led them back to the car. Sure enough, Joanna was down for the count by the time they pulled up to the Kirk Farm. Jim cuddled her to his chest and carried her in, while Spock brought the pumpkin and left it on the porch. Jim settled Joanna on the couch, covered her with an old afghan, and tiptoed out of the room.

He found Spock in the kitchen boiling the kettle for tea. Spock had shed his hat, gloves and coat; and once again stray hairs charged with static stuck up from his head as he pulled out two mugs from a cabinet.

Jim didn’t smile, but his chest did that warm and fuzzy thing it should only really do around Christmas-time; when you stand in the first blinding snow and see the first glittering rainbow lights.

“You still cold?” he asked in an unusually mild tone as he stepped into the room.

Spock didn’t turn. “Somewhat,” he replied easily.

A week ago he wouldn’t have admitted to even that. Jim was fairly certain they both felt like any sort of weakness was a hole in their defence. He was pretty sure that was a fault and a hole within itself – that terror of being anything but constantly vigilant – but Jim didn’t much care to change it. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

Jim peeled out of his winter-wear, dropped it on a chair and shucked off his boots without untying them. “Me too. It’s gonna get bitter real fast this year.”

Spock popped open the tea tin and dropped two bags of Earl Grey into the mugs. “How can you predict that?”

“Dunno. Living here my whole life, I guess.” Jim ambled to where Spock was and leaned his hip against the counter, so that he could study Spock’s profile. “Just like you can probably guess the weather from wherever you’re from. What city did you grow up in, anyway?”

The water boiled and Spock busied himself with filling their cups. “ _Shi’Kahr_.”

“ _Shi’Kahr_?” Jim repeated, trying the word on for size. “Sounds exotic. What’s it like?”

Spock peered into the steaming black tea as it steeped, but he wasn’t truly there. “Different,” he murmured vaguely. “Wholly dissimilar from this world. Scorching and sharp and stunning.”

Jim grinned, even as a shiver skittered down his spine. The description reminded him of someone. “Sounds like my kinda place. Wish I could see it.”

“You could,” Spock replied as he lifted a spoon to stir the teabags.

“Yeah?” Jim tilted his head to the side and tried to catch Spock’s gaze with a coercive smile. “How?”

Spock finally looked at Jim – his eyes were hot and dark as the tea he’d abandoned. “Through a mind-meld, of course.”

Jim laughed so suddenly that he surprised himself and clamped his mouth shut. He tugged a hand through his hair and forced a grin. “Um, sorry – I just figured you’d have gotten the picture from yesterday that you’re not going anywhere _near_ my mind. Do not collect two-hundred dollars, do not pass ‘go’.”

Spock blinked at Jim, and just like that the openness was gone from his eyes. “I see,” he replied curtly, and refocused his attentions on removing the teabags and dumping them in the garbage.

Jim remained leaning on the counter, watching Spock with a slightly stupefied expression. When he felt the brush of knuckles and the hot ceramic of a mug pressed against his fingers, Jim inwardly startled with the realisation that Spock was nudging the cup into his hands. Jim tore his gaze from Spock’s, stared into his drink and attempted to piece together the cause of this nameless tension.

“Is that like a big deal or something?”

“Specify,” Spock replied, gathering his own mug and taking it to the kitchen table. He sat and Gumby trotted up to sniff his legs, in order to sort out what adventures Spock had been on and what smells he’d brought home.

Jim remained at the counter, his palms cupping the scalding ceramic for warmth. “I mean this whole mind-meld thing. Yesterday you said you didn’t want to go anywhere near my head, and now you’re all _let me show you my home videos with my mind_! This is like a common Vulcan practice then, yeah?”

Spock took a lingering sip of tea, and Jim narrowed his eyes as he watched Spock’s cheeks flush. _Huh_.

A slow smile teased Jim’s lips. “Spock? Are you trying to say that mind-melds actually _aren’t_ that common? But by admitting to that you’d also be revealing that you – a _Vulcan_ who doesn’t lie – _did_ , in fact, lie about wanting to see inside my pretty little head.”

Spock lowered his lashes and that was reply enough. Despite Jim’s budding curiosity over Spock’s apparent inclination to perform a mind-meld with Jim, he was still shifty about the whole idea. But if talking about it made Spock uncomfortable, well – then he might just have to see how far he could push his luck on the subject.

Unfortunately Jim’s own suspicion surrounding the topic did nothing to cool the lingering warmth that had nestled in his chest, when Spock had inadvertently implied that he liked Jim.

He was about to open his mouth and say something snotty to defuse the situation, when the house-phone jarred him from the subject. Careful not to wake Joanna so soon, Jim quickly set down his mug and dashed for the phone to yank it off the hook.

“’Lo?”

“Kirk?”

Jim grinned and leaned his thigh against the kitchen table – he made sure his crotch was pretty much directly in front of Spock’s face. What, a guy couldn’t have some fun? How many chances would he get to flirt with an alien?

“Hey Nyota! What’s shakin’ bacon?”

“Your greetings seriously need work.”

“Lies, you love them.”

Nyota smothered a chuckle with a dramatic sigh and moved on. “Are you coming tonight or what?”

“Or what? To what? What and the _what_ what?”

“Oh my _goodness_ , I will end you right now if you don’t reply like a regular human being. I swear you’re from a different planet sometimes.”

Jim looked down at Spock, who was very studiously gulping down his tea and shifting away. “Hey _chica_ , I’ll have you know that aliens are far weirder than I am. There’s mind-melding and shit involved that goes way over my head.”

Spock snapped his gaze to Jim, his focus suddenly and fiercely ablaze. Jim rolled his eyes and waved him off, because Nyota was already groaning.

“No, Jim. No one is more bizarre than you. Not even aliens. Now, are you or aren’t you coming to the Halloween party tonight?”

“Um...” Jim searched Spock’s face for a reaction, knowing that he could hear their entire conversation anyway. But his features were schooled in their usual mask, with his eyes not revealing much, and so Jim took that as ‘not a no’. “Yeah, sure. Is there dressing up?”

“If you want. Just no more dressing as junk food.”

“What?” Jim asked incredulously. “My Slim Jim costume was fucking _inspired_. I am Jim, and I was a Slim Jim – get it?”

Nyota sighed. “Unfortunately. I also got the bill for fifty-seven bucks when the top of your humongous costume crashed the chandelier.”

“I really took the house down that year, didn’t I? It was like a recreation of _The Phantom of the Opera_ , but with dried meat snacks. And I covered the damages, you know. Totally worth it.”

Jim could practically hear Nyota’s eye-roll before she said, “Not worth it. Never worth it. I’ll see you tonight, nutcase.”

“Wait wait!”

“What’s the matter?”

Jim’s voice was cloying and sneaky. “Is your _boooy_ friend coming?”

Nyota gave another hefty sigh. “I love you Kirk, but don’t try to play matchmaker. It’s not as easy as the movies make it out to be. And anyway, in case you forgot – Leonard has a _child_ , so I don’t think he would be open to the idea of leaving her on a Friday night to hang out with the drunken likes of you.”

“You pain me, Nyota. I’m as much Bones’ kid as Jojo is. He loves us equally.”

There was a muffled laugh from her end. “Bye.”

“ _Hasta la vista_ , baby!”

When Nyota inevitably hung up on him, Jim set the phone on the table and grinned at Spock. “I guess we’re goin’ to a party.”

Spock just nodded wearily.

They spent the remainder of Joanna’s long nap rummaging up a costume for Spock. Jim already had his Han Solo clothes – asserting his masculinity for the win – and he’d just so happened to have a Legolas outfit and cloak that he was in no way going to explain the origins of to _anyone_. Jim put the long blonde wig on Spock, and since it made his eyes look as big as Bambi’s, spent the next half an hour convincing a supremely grumpy alien that he _had_ to wear the outfit or else the look wouldn’t be complete.

Several hours later – minus one Joanna and Pumpkin of Epic Proportions – they were standing at Nyota’s front door as it swung open.

“Jimmy!”

Jim was enveloped by soft arms as his face was smushed into an undeniably glorious pair of tits. Jim could only reply with a muffled _mmf_ , as he was too busy dislodging himself from the iron grip of Gaila Vro.

Or, as she was known in high school when she was the star of the girls’ soccer team – Gaila Vrociszewski. It was easy to see why she’d shortened her name for her booming career as a plus-sized model.

Why the hell she still lived in a house with Uhura and not in New York or London was beyond Jim. If it wasn’t for his many responsibilities in Riverside, he’d be touring the fucking globe with a single backpack to his name.

Jim held Gaila out at arm’s length and met her dark blue eyes – which were level to his because fuck if she wasn’t just as tall as him in those heels – and grinned. Jim was pretty sure she was dressing as Ariel, judging by the vivid purple shell bra and glimmering green skirt – and, for some inexplicable reason, a shit-ton of body glitter covering her pale white skin. “I see you’ve started on the liquid festivities early.”

“Early?” Gaila squeaked as she swayed forward. “You’re late! I’ve missed you.”

Jim was swept into another hug. Gaila’s ample curves moulded against him and Jim laughed nervously – all the while attempting to unravel himself from a woman who’d apparently grown extra arms or something because _seriously_ now – _let go_!

“Um, me too. It’s been a while,” Jim replied uneasily once he had Gaila a good couple of feet in front of him. He could feel Spock’s intense stare burning holes into the back of his neck – and Jim was actually kind of terrified to look back and see what kind of expression Spock was making.

Jim only had a few seconds to calculate how to introduce Gaila with the most damage-control as possible.

Because how do you say in a few words, ‘Hey, this is my on-again off-again girlfriend from high school up until last year. She told me she loved me and I said that was _so weird_ – after which she promptly chucked my ass to the pavement. No – _literally_. She threw me over her shoulder, opened the door and dropped me to the porch. I had a concussion to prove it. And before she landed me on my head she said that dating me was like dating a thirteen year-old with ADHD.’

... _Yeah, probably not one of your better speeches, Jimmy_.

“Spock.” Jim shifted and placed a hand on the small of Spock’s back, looking up at him with a pleading and very pathetic smile. “This is Gaila Vro, a long-time friend of mine.”

Much to Gaila’s credit, she didn’t offer to shake Spock’s hand. Instead, she draped her arms around Jim’s neck and peered up at Spock with a white smile and rosy cheeks. “Spock, huh? What is that, Albanian or something? It’s wonderful to meet you! Are you a model too? You look like one. I’d say Jim was a thing for them, but you’re not exactly his usual type – aside from being devastatingly gorgeous, of course. You’re kinda quiet, arentcha? Nice ears.”

Gaila may have been graceful on her feet, but she still had as much tact as a line-backer.

Jim sputtered against Gaila’s wild mass of fiery curls, and disengaged from her with a squeak that was meant to be a laugh. “Maybe it’s because you haven’t let him _get in a fucking word_. Spock, just ignore Gaila – she’s full of shit and smells of tequila and lime.”

“I love limes!” Gaila chimed in, already making a millionth grab for Jim.

He ducked and grabbed Spock’s hand, muttering a quick, “Gotta find Nyota,” and dragged Spock away. Spock yanked his hand from Jim’s, but remained close to his back as they weaved through the pulsing crowd of dancing vampires, goblins and vaguely slutty animal-dressed chicks.

Spock’s voice was pitched low, but was close enough to Jim that he could hear. “Is it a common social practice that previous sexual partners retain such a close physical relationship?”

A siren went off in Jim’s head: _He knows, how does he fucking know, how does he know these things, HOW_?

They were in the half-empty corridor when Jim paused and turned, with his back up against a wall in more ways than one. He peered up at Spock and smiled stiffly. “It’s not like that, Spock. We’re not _When Harry Met Sally_ friends, we’re like... shit,” Jim grumbled, running his hands through his hair as he stared down at their feet.

When he couldn’t think of a proper media reference to express himself, Jim knew he was in deep. In fact, had he ever arrived at this point before? There was always a snappy reference or quick comeback. But standing before Spock, Jim felt oddly implored to just... speak. Which, by the way, was absolutely fucking batshit because they didn’t even have like a _relationship_ aside from roommate-with-life-altering-secrets, so why was Jim making such a big deal about this in his head?

Jim chewed on his lips and looked back to Spock, who was regarding him as blankly as ever. Jim cleared his throat and leaned back against the wall. “The thing is, Gaila and I have always liked each other just enough to keep coming back when we were bored – but we’re too similar to ever really _stay_ together. She always ends up going all _Amityville Horror_ and tries to, y’know, murder me in my sleep and stuff... that’s a figure of speech Spock, don’t look at me like that.”

Spock’s eyebrows screwed up in this adorable way – _For fuck’s sake, cram it, Jim! Remember he’s an alien who’s going to fly away one day? Yeah._ – and goes stiff. “Although I have not known Miss Vro for a considerable amount of time, I believe that it is obvious she is fond of you.”

Jim shifted uncomfortably, inwardly floundering with all the eye-contact going down. He didn’t like to explain himself to _anyone_ , let alone someone whose opinion he gave a shit about.

Jim shrugged. “I mean, _yeah_ , I know that. Doesn’t take a telepath to see it. But... well, she’s too much crazy to deal with and I’ve got the emotional maturity of a fetus, so there was never anything serious there to begin with.”

That wasn’t entirely true.

Jim had been friends with Gaila before she’d been plastered on billboards and highlighted in fashion magazines. Jim had been her first boyfriend – not to be mistaken with Jim’s first girlfriend, Tiffany Hoffstetter, the most emotionally unstable cheerleader in the history of ever. Jim had been the first guy who hadn’t been intimidated by the tall, Amazonian soccer player with a too-loud laugh, frizzy hair and a penchant for punching to show her affection.

They had been a power couple in the way of Powerfully Terrifying, but those two years had been a hell of a good time.

But as well-suited as they’d been as kids, it hadn’t been the same as adults – maybe because Jim hadn’t grown up while Gaila had. She eventually desired commitment, and Jim had simply wanted her to continue bringing home Krispie Kremes and watching Adult Swim with him in their underwear.

So yeah, maybe Gaila still loved him on some level – and Jim was definitely fond of her in return – but she wasn’t the Jean Grey to his Scott Summers.

Jim aimed a consoling grin Spock’s way, and swept past him saying, “Don’t worry about it. Come on, let’s go to the kitchen.”

Nyota was in there, fretting over food and drinks when she should be enjoying herself, and dressed as Xena the Warrior Princess – a girl after Jim’s own heart.

“Knew I’d find you here,” Jim said as he meandered in and leaned on a counter. Spock came up close beside him.

Nyota yelped and placed a hand on her heart, huffing a relieved laugh. “ _Kirk_ – you scared the shit out of me.”

“Well then for one day of the year we’re even, because you’re _always_ terrifying.” Jim’s lips curved as he gestured to Spock. “Nyota, this is my friend Spock. Spock this is my best friend –“

“Unfortunately for me.”

“Nyota,” Jim finished with a widening smile. “But you can call her Uhura.”

Nyota wiped her hands on a hand-towel, plopped it on the counter, and set her hands on her hips. Her sharp eyes appraised Spock before she smiled. “Hi, Spock. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Hello,” Spock said in his ultra-serious voice. “I was unaware that you knew of me.”

Nyota raised an eyebrow in a similar manner to Spock, then returned to mounding a tray high with miniature sandwiches. “Winona called me about thirty seconds after you guys left her. Anyway, Kirk’s been MIA for the last several weeks. That can only mean he was: A, caught up in work – B, in jail – C, he blew himself up – or D, otherwise enamoured.”

“Woah – hold the phone!” Jim held up his hands and unconsciously took a step in front of Spock. “There’s no hanky-panky goin’ on over here, all right? I assure you that Spock is just a friend of mine who’s staying with me for a while.”

 _And who I’m sleeping in the same bed with on random, awkward occasions and having warped sex dreams about and generally having the time of my life with._

Jim had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t just Spock who was a telepath. By Nyota’s dubious expression, she was reading his thoughts on the spot. But instead of saying anything prodding, she shrugged, picked up the tray and smiled cheerfully. “Whatever you say.”

She passed Spock on her way out the door and gave pause to nod hospitably at him. “We should talk later – I’d love to know more about you. See you guys in the living room.”

Spock nodded in reply as Nyota retreated, but said nothing more – he looked weary.

Jim smiled fondly at Spock and pushed off the counter to rummage through the fridge. He unearthed two beers and offered one to Spock, who wordlessly declined.

“What’s up?” Jim asked lightly. “Too many crazy Humans for ya? Because we can leave if you’d like.”

 _We_. Huh.

The last time Gary had wanted to leave a party, Jim assured him that they’d meet up back at their place later that night. The details were fuzzy, but Jim was fairly certain he’d spent the evening doing shots in a Davenport bar with a mass of Augustana College students. How he’d reached Davenport in the first place remained a mystery.

And here was that same flighty, fickle Jim Kirk doing – what? – putting himself at Spock’s disposal, for no real discernable reason.

Well, Jim wasn’t going to linger over that right now – or preferably _ever_.

Spock frowned faintly at Jim. “No. I have been interested to meet those who commonly keep your acquaintance.”

“My _friends_ ,” Jim clarified with a goofy grin, with his heart swelling just a little. “You want to meet my friends?”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I do. Unless I have currently met the extent of them.”

Jim grabbed a bottle-opener from the counter and popped the cap on his beer with a loud _snap_. He laughed and gestured at Spock with the bottle. “Are you implying that I have no friends? Because I have them. I’ve got, like, silos full of ‘em. Well – wait – that makes me sound like some kind of crazy murderer who keeps the bodies of... okay.”

He stopped himself at Spock’s bemoaning expression. Jim grinned and said, “Being quiet now,” and took a long sip of his beer.

“I am skeptical of how long that assurance will last.”

Jim ambled up to Spock and tapped his shin with a toe. “Not _that_ long if you keep up this level of snark, Mister. Where’d you learn to sass your saviour like this, huh?”

Spock’s eyebrow winged up. “Saviour? You shot me.”

“And bandaged you!” Jim added with a chuckle, and another swig from the green bottle. “I’m Florence fucking Nightingale, man. You should be thanking me.” Jim took a step into Spock’s personal space, with a cocky smile flashing white teeth. “What would you have done without me, huh?”

Spock’s lips seemed to soften for a moment – _gentle, dry mouth_ , Jim knew – as his gaze seemed to warm every inch of skin on Jim’s face. Spock quietly admitted, “I confess I do not know, Jim.”

Spock’s eyes reminded Jim of hot chocolate. Only their stare sent this bright, fresh _zing_ through Jim’s chest, that made him imagine that if Spock were a flavour he’d be peppermint chocolate.

And wow, Jim had completely lost the plot of this conversation some time ago.

“Hey! You haven’t had any Halloween candy yet, have you?”

Spock cocked his head. “I do not believe so.”

Jim bounced on the balls of his feet. “You gotta have some, then,” he decided with the single-mindedness of someone who desperately wanted to stay out of their own head. “I think there’s a snack table in the living room. Let’s brave the masses.”

They passed by small groups of people chatting, moving to the music, and some in various states of undress. Most of the guests Jim recognised from high school or were friends of friends – other’s he’d never seen before.

Jim greeted a few of them as he weaved through the crowd and cheerfully introduced Spock. Jim made sure to swiftly move them along before his friends began the, ‘Have you heard about the time when Jim...’ conversations. Sometimes they were hilarious – hell, Jim was a funny guy. Otherwise they were just cringe-worthy.

Mostly the latter.

Before they made it to the food table, Jim and Spock made it through Aisling – the stoner hippy who’d always been willing to road-trip with Jim all the way to Chicago just to see a single band. Matt, who was a total stealth _douche_ and no one but Jim seemed to notice. Holly, the Mormon who had been trying to convert Jim since the seventh grade. And Kelsey, who was a bubbly ray of sunshine with a faux-hawk and an ambiguous gender – but Jim knew her when she had hair down to her ass, though.

Every time Spock was introduced to someone, he remained perfectly polite and utterly evasive. People must have thought he was a part of the Witness Protection Programme or something. But Jim was happy to see that everyone seemed to like – and maybe even approve – of Spock.

Um, not that Jim was searching for approval. When had he ever?

“Oh!” Jim picked up a mint Oreo and held it up to Spock’s mouth. “Eat this!”

Spock frowned but took the Oreo anyway, staring down at it as if he wished he had a microscope handy. His nostrils flared as he subtly smelled it. “What is this?”

“An Oreo. America’s pride and joy.”

“Is this candy?”

Jim bit back a laugh. “Well, no – but it’s just as good. We’ll move up to candy in a second.”

Spock looked unsure, but he nodded and took a dainty bite. He chewed slowly, as if cataloguing each individual flavour. Then his eyes lit up like early Christmas. He swallowed and said, a bit bewildered, “I find Oreos rather palatable.”

Jim was smiling ear to ear as he watched Spock pop the rest of the cookie in his mouth.

“I knew you’d like it! Here, have ano –”

“Jimmy!” Gaila’s hand was suddenly in Jim’s as she tugged at him.

“Kirk, Spock.” Nyota popped up _out of fucking nowhere_ from behind Spock’s shoulder and smiled at the two of them. “I’m just going to steal Spock for a little while. You two go dance.”

Gaila chimed, “Great idea, darling,” just as Jim cried, “This is a coup!”

But it was too late. He was already being dragged away from a bewildered-looking Spock. Jim called out, “Don’t believe anything she says!” in a last attempt at damage-control.

Unfortunately Nyota already had Spock in her devious clutches, and Jim was across the room where the furniture had been cleared for dancing. Gaila’s hands were at the nape of Jim’s neck, and he had no choice but to place his palms on her swaying hips.

At least he’d inconspicuously twisted their positions so he could watch the goings-on over Gaila’s shoulder.

Spock didn’t look all that distressed. If anything, he looked somewhat amused as Nyota animatedly spoke to him. Okay, well... that was good, wasn’t it?

Ha, _no_. Anytime Gaila and Nyota tag-teamed against Jim it could never end in his favour.

But since Jim couldn’t do anything at this point, he just had to go with the flow and dance to ‘Bad Romance’. Gaila’s lips went to Jim’s ear as their bodies bumped and grinded with the innate amiable camaraderie of a hundred songs danced together. “You really like him, don’t you?”

Jim pulled back slightly, his gaze flickering from Nyota – where she was holding up a bowl of candy to Spock and introducing him to one bite-sized chocolate after another – to Gaila’s smile. “What?” he asked over the din of the music, as if he hadn’t heard.

Gaila wasn’t fooled. She snaked her arms around Jim and raised her eyebrows. Her elaborate eyeshadow glimmered cheerfully. “I wasn’t kidding when I said he wasn’t your usual type, you know. Strong and silent? He must be something special – _very_ special if he can deal with _you_.

“Ha- _ha_. I’m not that awful.”

Gaila tossed her head back in a laugh, with her fingertips lingering at Jim’s nape. “Yes. Yes you are. Just because I’ve missed you doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten how impossible you are to be around on a regular basis.”

Instead of feeling insulted, Jim was swamped with relief. Interrupting their dance, he pulled Gaila into a short hug. “Oh thank god! I feel the exact same way.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Gaila added with an air of playful snootiness as she took Jim’s hands and brought them to her nipped waist. “I’ve decided to never again date anyone who wears plaid.”

Jim chuckled and – feeling more relaxed in a platonic friend’s arms – whooped with joy when Ludacris’ ‘What’s Your Fantasy’ came on. Falling into old times, Gaila and Jim immediately got into each other’s faces while theatrically mouthing, _I wanna l-l-l-lick you from your head to your toes_ and pretending not to be the horrendously white Midwestern kids that they were.

They were working through the third block of rap, and Gaila was sliding her hands up Jim’s chest along with the words, _I wanna get you in the back seat, windows up – that’s the way you like to fuck_ and –

There was an iron grip on Jim’s hand as he was swung around to boggle at Spock. He had enough time to sputter, “What the f-” before he was promptly dragged from the room and into the corridor.

In the distance Jim could hear that no one appeared to give a flying fuck that he’d just been hijacked; as the music continued and people were still chatting away, seemingly oblivious to Spock’s unexplainable haste.

“Can we just –”

Jim had a glimpse of green flushed cheeks and unfocussed eyes before he was pushed into the tiny unlit laundry room. Spock came after and slammed the door behind them.

“Spock, what are you –“

Strong, insistent hands slipped beneath Jim’s ass, lifting him up with frightening ease and carelessly dropping Jim on top of the hot, rumbling dryer. _Oh god_ \- Jim’s fingers instinctively cupped the nape of Spock’s neck as the full length of that hard, lithe Vulcan body wedged firmly between Jim’s legs.

“ _Spock_ ,” Jim gasped, scrambling for coherent thought. Jim was certain Spock could see in the dark and so refused to let his shock and confusion show - but it was still impossible not to stiffen in surprise when Spock’s nose nuzzled the line of Jim’s neck.

Jim was about five seconds from fizzling out and not giving a shit over the reason for this – this _pouncing_ – when Spock rumbled low and with less precision than usual, “Y’should not behave in such a manner with one who is not your partner.”

Spock concluded this slightly slurred, sage advice by sliding his hands beneath the rumpled material of Jim’s shirt and gripping his waist. His long thumbs idly stroked the delicate skin near Jim’s navel and nearly had his thoughts shattering.

“Um.” Jim tightly clenched the edge of the dryer as it vibrated hot and unyielding beneath his thighs, even as his body betrayed him when his hips arched and he tilted his head to give Spock better access. “Okay, as much as I will drop-kick myself in the morning for reminding you, this _also_ isn’t exactly the most, uh, socially accepted behaviour for two people who aren’t part–”

“ _Jim_ ,” Spock hummed against the crook of Jim’s neck. The soft gust of breath danced across Jim’s flesh, and he was lucky enough that he could eke out a strangled ‘ _hm_?’ as he scooted forward and hooked one leg around Spock’s waist.

Spock murmured a husky noise of approval, as one palm dragged a hot trail down Jim’s hip and hooked beneath his thigh. Spock’s voice was hoarse and had Jim thanking his stars that he wasn’t standing, lest his knees go weak.

“I b’lieve I am experiencing the desire t’kiss you in the hum’n fash’n.”

Jim blinked into the darkness and exhaled a soft, slightly hysterical laugh. “Oh – you _believe_?”

He wasn’t even sure why he was seeking clarification on this. _Hello_? Hot-as-the-sun alien between his thighs acting like Jim was the centre of the universe right now.

Jim wasn’t the type to seek reassurance. And yet he realised he didn’t simply wish to be an experiment in human nature – if that’s what this was. He needed to know he wasn’t a statistic or a hypothesis to Spock. Jim needed to know that this crazy and highly fucking improbable shit was happening because he was _Jim_.

He could sense the intensity of Spock’s eyes just as clearly as he could feel the outline of Spock’s erection imprinted against his thigh. When Spock’s thumb ceased that distracting slide along Jim’s stomach and moved to caress the small of Jim’s back he had to swallow a groan.

Spock’s lips fluttered across Jim’s ear as he rasped, “There is a ninety-one point... point... there is a ninety-one percent chance that I am mildly ‘toxicated. I can only conclude that this r’action is the product of choc’late or high sugar content. I am unable to discern which. My in’bitions have been lowered and so I have become fully cognisant of my intense and perplexing d’sire to kiss you, Jim.”

So Spock was drunk, and he wanted to kiss Jim. On the other hand, Spock was _drunk_ and _that_ was the reason why he wanted to kiss Jim. On the _other_ -other hand, _Spock wanted to kiss Jim_.

Jim’s heart swelled and ached as he blindly slung his arms around Spock’s shoulders and leaned in. Their noses brushed. “Okay,” Jim murmured softly. “I’ll laugh at you later for getting trashed off candy. For now, I think I’m gonna let you kiss me.”

Time didn’t slow or stop like in some cheesy movie, but Jim swore his entire body pulsed with his heartbeat when Spock sighed and slotted his lips neatly against Jim’s.

For a moment they were still, and then their mouths minutely increased pressure as they leaned into one another’s space. Jim banded his arms around Spock’s neck and guided him closer, the tip of Jim’s tongue venturing out to taste the cupid’s bow of Spock’s top lip. Spock’s answering noise of surprise brought both of his hands around to cup Jim’s ass, pulling them closer together. With Spock’s response of apparent delight, Jim’s heart leapt into his throat.

In the dark there was no need for promising looks or words of seduction. Neither of them had to hide or play their usual parts. Within this fragment of time, Jim wasn’t required to be the funny guy or the smooth talker or the awkward geek or the carefree badass. He was just Jim, and this was just Spock – and when all was said and done, _this_ was how they genuinely felt about each other.

But this wasn’t just a messy grope in the closet. _That_ was something Jim would normally get behind, and something he understood. This... _this_ was out of his comfort zone.

Spock tasted Jim with exquisite, curious kisses; like he was some delicacy to be luxuriated in. That moist, velvet tongue sampled the curved corners of Jim’s lips, the hard line of his teeth, and the palate of his mouth. Spock tenderly brushed his lips across Jim’s bottom one and then strayed to his chin, where Spock planted a constellation of dainty kisses along Jim’s jaw.

Jim clung to Spock like a life raft. He was very efficiently being drowned beneath waves of unfettered affection, and it was both beautiful and heartbreaking. Jim desperately reciprocated each inquisitive caress of tongue and mirrored each breathy moan with a soft nip or kiss to Spock’s ear – but he was barely staying afloat beneath the dizzying tide of emotion that pulled and pushed between them.

There was so much to _feel_ and who the hell knew drunken Vulcans turned into love machines – and oh god this was Jim’s brain switching into hyperdrive to counteract the languid burn encompassing his heart. Something deep inside his core was stretching and straining towards Spock and Jim panicked, stalling against the hot, cloying tug in his stomach.

Jim gasped against Spock’s mouth and was preparing to pull away and say – _what_ , what do you even say when you can feel yourself losing control and you have no way to stop it? But a stopper was put on everything when the door jerked opened and –

Jim looked over Spock’s shoulder, undoubtedly a fucking _state_ with his swollen lips and lust-and-shock blown pupils. Jim grinned because it was the only thing he could always do.

“This is _exactly_ what it looks like.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What it looked like wasn’t actually what it was.

What it looked like wasn’t actually what it was.

Because despite the fact that Jim was wrapped around Spock like an anaconda, and Spock’s wig had somehow fallen to the floor and both their hair was unruly and spiked – Jim was freaking the fuck out.

A casual romp once in a while was fine – hell, Jim even did the relationship gig from time to time – but _this_. This standing at the precipice and _knowing_ that Jim was going to fall no matter how abruptly he flung his body back – that was frightening.

Despite what the Captain and Tennille song claimed love will _not_ , in fact, keep us together. Jim saw that time and again.

Love didn’t stop the person you cared about from dying. It didn’t stop a son leaving his sick mother and struggling brother. Love didn’t stop a wife from divorcing her husband and leaving him to care for their partially deaf daughter. It didn’t magically cure loneliness or selfishness or anger.

And love absolutely did not keep someone from leaving and – oh, y’know – flying into fucking _space_.

So in conclusion, this was all a big pile of bullshit – and Jim was not going to stand for it.

When Nyota popped her head into the doorway and light streamed in to the humid laundry room, Jim was already loosening his hold on Spock. Not that he didn’t want to continue making-out or anything – no, it was because he desired the very _opposite_ he was tempted to bolt.

Not that considering retreat made him a coward. It totally didn’t. This was self-preservation at its finest. Jim needed to get a firm hold on that slippery, elusive emotion that was twirling around inside him. Once that was achieved, he could go back to freely flirting with Spock without consequence.

As for Spock...well.

Jim untangled himself from Spock’s hold and hopped off the dryer like it was no big thing.

Nyota leaned in the doorway, her eyes sparkling with muted amusement. “I assumed you were demonstrating to Spock the reproductive habits of the face-huggers from _Alien_.”

Jim smirked. “ _Ha_ -ha.”

Spock had brusquely disengaged himself from Jim, and was pointedly straightening his costume. His rigid back was to Nyota as he realigned his skewed wig, and pressed his lips into a stern line. His eyes were still glassy, indicating his mildly choco-drunk state – but Jim had a suspicion that Spock’s Vulcan physiology wouldn’t allow him to remain smashed for very long.

Jim gave Spock’s hand a reassuring squeeze, even as his heart constricted and twisted in attempts to wretch free of the largely uncomfortable emotion entrenched in his chest.

Or maybe that was just an alien waiting to burst free. Jim could only hope.

“I was officially welcoming Spock to Riverside, is all.”

“Uh _huh_ ,” Nyota replied noncommittally, and blew her long, thick bangs from her eyes. “Well, why don’t you show Spock how we drink in Riverside? Gaila’s moaning for beer pong.”

“Oh!” Jim may or may not have squealed as he clapped his hands.

Two things: One, beer pong was fun. And _no_ Jim hadn’t grown out of it – which he blamed on his never officially _attending_ a college or university.

Okay, he’d crashed plenty of frat parties in the past, but that was beside the point.

Two, beer pong was a hell of a good diversion. Jim needed a distraction that wasn’t Spock – particularly now, when Jim’s lips were still swollen and his skin still hummed, and he remained in danger of saying something chick-flick that he might regret later.

The problem didn’t lie with _falling_ in love. Jim had been open to love loads of times – well, he had been open to ‘serious relationships’. Whatever the hell _that_ meant – because who wanted a relationship to be boring _and_ serious, really?

Anyway, the point was that Jim didn’t think he was particularly freaked out by love. It simply hadn’t been in the cards for him yet, and that was fine. He wasn’t going to chase that kind of thing.

The problem laid with _who_ Jim was potentially falling for. This concern didn’t stem from Spock being an alien – although, let’s face it, that kind of thing had ‘shenanigans’ written all over it.

No, it was the fact that Spock was leaving.

Jim had his fair share of delusions in life – _Heroes_ would return for another season, Sam and Frodo actually ended up together, and Mufasa never really died. But one of them was _not_ a scenario that involved himself, Spock and Happily Ever After. That was simply not a possibility Jim was willing to allow himself to entertain.

Unfortunately, his cursed heart seemed to have an ulterior agenda, and _that_ was going to be a problem.

So Jim did the only thing he _could_ do to remain in control of the situation. He let go of Spock’s hand, tugged the hem of his shirt down and swept past Nyota with a half-smile. “C’mon Spock – let’s get me hammered.”

And _boy_ did Jim ever. He was excellent at beer pong – not difficult to believe – and it didn’t help matters that Gaila was at his side, egging him on. They’d both always had borderline alcoholism in common, at least.

Jim was not surprised that Spock didn’t join in. He remained on a futon some feet away, conversing with Nyota and surveying Jim’s downward progression into Fratboy Douchebag. In the few instances that their gazes caught from across the room, Spock’s stare would sober and still – while Jim would deflect with a wink, and feel desperation and discomposure twist his gut.

Or was that the Milwaukee’s Best sloshing and frothing around his innards? _Ugh_. That was some nasty-ass beer – when would Jim ever learn?

Story of his life.

Gaila reintroduced tequila shots, and a Halloween episode of _Supernatural_ miraculously flicked on the flatscreen. Players of _Supernatural_ Shots had to take a shot for each time Dean bellowed, ‘ _Sam/Sammy_!’, Dean got slammed into a wall, and Dean and Castiel had eye-sex.

Needless to say, things got fuzzy _real_ quick for Jim; and soon the evening dissolved into a sea of spinning faces and muddled, nonsensical conversation.

“ _Jimmy! I hear you... seven minutes in heaven... Spock_?”

“ _Dude... -on’t think you should... more... Bagel Bites_.”

“ _Kirk, can I talk to you for... about Spock... don’t pull him along like a puppy on a lea... don’t think you reali... strong feelings for y... I have no ide... _Ugh_ , my shoes! Goddammit, Kirk you’re paying for_ –”

“CAN WE PRETEND THAT AIRPLANES IN THE NIGHT SKY ARE LIKE SHOOTING STARS!”

“ _Let’s not, Jim. Let’s not_.”

“ _JAMES TIBERIUS KIRK, GET OFF OF THAT TABLE. IT’S FROM IKEA._.”

“ _I’ll take those keys... no way... driving..._ ”

Large, familiar hands teased the small of Jim’s back.

 _Spock_.

“Spock!”

“Yes, Jim.” He sounds weird. Kinda funky, for Spock. Funky town.

“Won’ you take m’to Funky Town?”

“I do not understand that reference.”

Jim snorted. “’Kay, Cas.” His shoulder pummelled into the corridor wall, and a picture frame wobbled, tipped and fell on his head. Luckily, it didn’t hurt at all! Jim was like a goddamned superhero with how he didn’t feel any pain.

“Are you well, Jim?”

“I think I’m Superman,” Jim whispered conspiratorially, leaning into Spock’s side.

“I see.”

“Act’lly, no. _You’re_ Superman. Alien an’ all – an’ awesome powers. Sexy. Triple-X Sexy – that’s very sexy! What a great word. Sexy. _Sssss_...”

“I assure you that I am not a caped crusader.”

“You’re wearin’ a cape now.”

“It is a cloak and you forced me to wear it.”

Jim found himself guided to a bed – when had they arrived in an unlit bedroom? Whose place was this, anyway?

The moment Jim’s head hit the downy pillow, the world groaned and swayed before his eyes once more. It became a lot more difficult to string together coherent thoughts and sentences. So instead, Jim grabbed blindly for Spock, and sighed happily when he felt a comforting weight cave the mattress beside him.

“Spock,” Jim murmured, trying to simultaneously wrap all of his limbs around Spock while still lying on his side. “Soft Spock, warm Spock, little pointy ears. Happy Spock, sleepy Spock, purr purr purr.”

“ _Nrg_ ,” was the reply.

Jim was pushed back to the bed. He huffed a little laugh and slurred, “Like you too damn much. When ya leavin’ me?”

There was a long moment of silence in which Jim nearly nodded off, before Spock carefully enunciated in the dark, “I do not believe that now is the proper time to have this discussion.”

Jim hummed noncommittally, because he could only partially recall what question Spock was answering in the first place.

A few seconds more and Spock’s voice sounded scraped-out and hollow, even to Jim’s bungled senses. “Taking in to account the fact that I repaired my communicator and broadcasted a distress signal before leaving for the party, I hypothesise that I will depart in five to twelve days.”

When Jim shot up to a sitting position on the bed, the whole world was tipped on its axis and his stomach went with. He bore down on the roiling in his gut and hissed, “What? What now _what_? You didn’ tell me! _Why_? An’ wh-”

Jim gagged and tripped from the bed, skittering into the adjacent bathroom with only enough time to lift the toilet seat and spew Bagel Bites and Milwaukee’s Fucking Best and Jose Cuervo and chocolate and god knows what else.

Spock pointedly did not follow to help. Jim would have lingered on the million _whys_ whirling around his head if he hadn’t been so busy ejecting his major organs into the plumbing. And after he was spent, it was a bit too late for thinking, because Jim passed out on the icy, tiled floor.

***  
Jim felt like road kill. At least, that was the first coherent thought he scraped up as he groaned and rolled onto his back. He squinted blearily up at the ceiling, his eyes crusty and angry with the daylight infiltrating the room.

His head pounded, his stomach roiled, and his spine felt more or less mangled from a night spent on the floor. But on the plus side, Jim realised an afghan was tangled around his legs and a pillow punched behind his head.

 _Hallelujah_ – someone cared!

The exclamation in his head took more energy than Jim had anticipated, and so he spent a good ten minutes more lying there and gauging whether or not he was going to puke again. When Jim smelled pancakes in the distance and his stomach made a Chewbacca gurgle, he figured he was in the clear.

Careful not to upset his haywire equilibrium, Jim gingerly sat up with his head in his hands. The room rocked once, but Jim had experienced worse.

Shower first. Jim’s head felt like one of those ashtrays that not only had cigarette butts, but also napkins and peanut shells and all manner or shit – and he probably smelled just as appetising.

With a level of dexterity that actually surprised Jim, he wobbled to his feet and flicked the shower dial to scalding. Undressing revealed several scattered bruises – none of which Jim recalled getting. There was also a scrap of paper with a phone number in his pocket from a ‘Matt’.

Matt. _Matt_? Douche Matt? _Gross_. Jim would rather date Steve Buscemi.

Ducking beneath the boiling spray with a hiss and a moan, Jim leaned against the still chilled tiles and allowed the water to sluice away the Halloween grime.

And then Jim remembered.

Well okay, he didn’t necessarily recall much after Dean had been slammed into a wall for the third time – but there were snippets and stuff.

There was Spock.

Spock who, Jim was fairly certain, had spent much of the evening with Nyota while Jim got shit-faced and ran amok of the festivities. Spock who, Jim was absolutely certain, put him to bed while Jim had rambled on about god knows what.

Spock, who was leaving.

If Jim recalled correctly, Spock had _not_ been happy towards the end of the evening. Who would be?

Oh yeah – Jim was a major league fucktard.

Jim resisted banging his head against the tiles, because that really wouldn’t help the situation. Although, it was possible that he couldn’t get any more brain damaged, so...

With a clear head, a guiltier conscience, and smelling like Nyota’s cucumber and lemongrass body wash, Jim stumbled out of the shower. Not wanting to put on his smelly Han Solo clothes just yet, Jim settled for his boxer-briefs and tied a daisy printed sheet around him like a toga.

See, attending those frat parties _had_ taught him something.

With a sour look twisting his face, Jim opened the door of his room – just as Gaila, clad in a long t-shirt and panties, padded through her doorway from across the hall. They exchanged balefully hung-over looks and wordlessly headed straight for the kitchen.

Spock and Nyota were already there, of course. Nyota faced the softly sizzling griddle with her back turned to the doorway, while Spock sat at the small kitchen table with a mug of tea cupped in his palms. He was barefoot, dressed in the tight forest green Legolas pants, and a clinging t-shirt that must have been borrowed from Nyota because it had kanji printed across the front. It was then that Jim noticed how shaggy Spock’s hair had gotten in the past several weeks – the tips of his ears were just barely concealed.

In the brief second before their eyes met, Jim recalled the heated drag of those hands across the small of his back. He shivered when Spock’s indecipherable gaze clashed with his, and then quickly returned to the table top without a flicker of recognition.

Despite Jim’s feeble attempt to keep a hold on his heart, it slipped through his fingers and fell with a sickening splat. Jim felt awful, and he hated that another person had the power to make him feel that way with one fucking look. That wasn’t right, that shouldn’t be allowed.

In the periphery of Jim’s attention, Nyota was saying, “Well, I’m the only girl among five brothers, so it fell on me to help my mom with meals every day. Actually, Ghedi enjoyed helping too, and he tended to burn food far less than I ever did. I know enough to get by. Anyway, I’m sure my mother would be flattered if I handed down some family recipes to you.”

Before Spock could reply – and, thankfully, before Jim was forced to speak – Gaila swept past Jim and plopped in the seat across from Spock with a dramatic sigh. “I feel like shit! Nyota, are those banana pancakes I smell?”

Nyota cast an amused glance over her shoulder. “It is, but you get the first batch because the first is always the worst, and our guest gets the second.” Her expression chilled several degrees when she saw Jim. “Kirk gets fed last.”

 _Dammit_ , he was on the Shit List.

“What did I break?” Jim croaked as he scooted into the seat beside Gaila. No way could he stomach sitting beside Spock right now. Unfortunately, having a view of his damn good-looking face across from Jim wasn’t any help either – especially when Jim was still feeling like something that crawled out from the garbage disposal.

Nyota’s pointed look at Spock’s profile told Jim enough. He’d trashed something worse than an Ikea table, then.

“You threw up on my shoes,” Nyota added as she flipped some oddly-shaped pancakes onto a purple plate. She set the dish before Gaila, who didn’t even bother with toppings or utensils. She just ripped off a piece and stuffed it in her mouth.

“Sorry,” Jim grumbled. He propped his elbow on the table and laid his cheek upon his palm as he observed Nyota pour batter on the griddle. Anything to distract him from Spock. What the hell could he say to him, anyway? Nothing that wouldn’t make Jim look like a fool. “Anything else?”

“The table.”

“And the table. I’ll pay you back.”

Nyota snorted a short laugh. “You don’t have an option.”

Jim’s lips curved slightly. “I mean, I’ll pay you back _and_ pay you back with one thousand kisses.”

Nyota turned, leaned against the counter, and menacingly waved a spatula in Jim’s direction. “Oh, don’t you start quoting _Rent_ to soften me up, James Kirk.”

Gaila snickered into her pancakes and murmured, “ _Ooh_ , someone is in trouble.”

“ _Gaila_ ,” Nyota snapped, but she was grinning and rolling her eyes as she turned back to her cooking.

“So,” Gaila continued on as she played with her food. “Spock. Did you enjoy a good old American house party?”

Spock looked up from his tea, his expression carefully blank. “It was enlightening.”

Gaila blew a raspberry and tossed a crumb at him. “Sure, but did you have fun?”

Spock took a sip of his tea as if that would buy him time. He flicked a glance to Jim – who, having been caught staring, looked away – and said, “There were certain enjoyable elements to the evening, but I do not find I would be amenable to the experience again.”

Jim’s heart writhed on the floor, and he imagined it was picking up a lot of dust and hairs and gross shit from all that rolling around underfoot. His heart would probably never be clean or pristine after this was over. Christ, this sucked – what kind of sick bastards _pursued_ this feeling?

“Aw,” Gaila murmured with a pout and returned to her food. “You’re one of those.”

The legs of Jim’s chair abruptly scraped across the linoleum floor as he stood. For a second he hadn’t realised he’d even done it, until Gaila asked, “What’s up, babe?”

“I need to...” Jim swallowed, instinctively searching out Spock even as he cursed himself for it. Spock’s pupils were flared wide and dark, and Jim had to tear himself away from his attempts to decode Spock’s thoughts. “Actually, I don’t think I’m hungry,” Jim continued shakily, offering a twist of lips that barely constituted as a smile. “I think I’m gonna get dressed and get ready to go. The farm never sleeps. Well, I mean the animals do, but then they get hungry and...”

Jim was already backing out of the room as he rambled his excuses. His lungs felt tight, like trying to inhale water on a humid summer day. Not to be melodramatic or anything, but Jim absolutely felt like he would choke and _die_ on his words if he attempted to speak to Spock.

Not to be melodramatic or anything.

The problem laid in the fact that Jim rarely felt guilty for anything. He tried to live his life in a way that guaranteed an easy ride – and if Jim found himself at a fork in the road and he had the time to consider his path, he always chose the one he was most comfortable with. That didn’t necessarily mean it was the _right_ path, or that it was the _kindest_ path, but all the same it was what Jim could deal with.

And so he’d gone through life being kind of a self-important jerk, in the way that he cared more about his own emotional security than anyone else’s – and, in turn, Jim rarely experienced _guilt_.

But he was feeling it now, like a ton of bricks settled on his chest.

Unfortunately, Jim didn’t know how to apologise for the night before. Apologising meant not only admitting that he was wrong – which was no fun – but it also meant that he’d have to, y’know, explain _why_ he ignored Spock for an entire night after avidly sucking-face with him in a laundry closet.

And the _why_ was what weighed so heavily upon him.

Jim wasn’t going to think about it right now. Instead he concentrated on getting back into his old, grubby clothes and finding his keys. He didn’t know if Spock would want a ride home with him – but if he didn’t, Jim was sure Gaila or Nyota would give him one later.

It was entirely possible Spock didn’t want to have anything to do with Jim right now, and he couldn’t blame him. What Jim had done was a shit thing to do – especially considering how he felt about Spock.

 _Especially_ considering how Jim realised Spock felt about _him_. That was certainly the kicker. It wasn’t like Jim hadn’t figured out Spock’s little crush. Who _wouldn’t_ like Jim, right? And Spock was an alien, so he was probably just as enamoured with the uniqueness of Jim as Jim was fascinated by the newness of Spock. The feeling was mutual.

But if what Nyota told him last night during his drunken stupor was true – maybe Spock wasn’t just curious about Jim. Maybe there was more.

And maybe that made things even worse.

How the hell was Jim going to fix this and come out unscathed?

Jim was about to leave the room when there was a short rap at the door. More like a single thump – as if the person on the other side had re-thought said knock halfway through, and only managed one knuckle before they’d chickened out.

Despite the circumstances, Jim almost smiled. He wasn’t the only nervous person in the house.

“C’mon in,” Jim called, and stood awkwardly in the middle of the room with his arms folded over his chest. As expected, Spock poked his head in with a guarded expression. When Jim gestured impatiently with one hand that Spock come in, he finally did – but he stood a good three feet away from Jim.

To Jim’s surprise Spock spoke up immediately, with his tone hollow and deep. “I wish to apologise for my untoward behaviour on the previous evening. My attention was not to offend you, and I believe it is clear that we both regret the incident.”

Oh. _Oh_.

Words and reassurances clamoured and clawed up Jim’s throat, but it seemed like not a one could break free. When had Jim _ever_ really had a heart-to-heart with a partner? Not that Spock was his partner, but the essence was the same.

The answer was never.

Jim had never had a barf-worthy lovey-dovey conversation with anyone in his life. He opened up to his mother from time to time when he was either forced to through the threat of bodily harm, or when he was particularly distraught about something. But those moments were few and far between.

So yeah, right about now Jim was wishing he’d watched more _Oprah_ and less _Jerry Springer_. Because the former would have helped him immensely in his current quest not to be even more of an asshat.

“Spock, that was – er, I don’t – I didn’t –” Jim fumbled, clenching his fists at his sides. He took a step towards Spock, but abruptly paused when he saw Spock swallow. It was a subtle gesture, but it screamed ‘terrified’ to Jim – and consequently, set Jim at ease a single notch.

Jim’s brow scrunched as he openly frowned at Spock. “I don’t regret last night.” Well, he regretted everything after the kissing part. “Well, _no_ – actually, that’s not true. What I mean –”

Spock’s eyes snapped at Jim like stones from a slingshot. “I see. Well, as we have an accord on the subject, I believe you wished to depart.”

“Wait, you’ve got it wr–”

“I would appreciate it if you transported me back,” Spock curtly concluded. Without another word or second glance, he spun on his heel like a regular soldier and marched from the room.

Jim stood like a statue, and was fairly certain Spock had stepped on his heart on the way out.

This would take a while to clean up. Jim had a feeling that hearts tended to stain.

Shortly after that complete disaster, Jim and Spock made their stilted goodbyes to Gaila and Nyota. The former remained oblivious to the tension as she watched Saturday morning cartoons, while Nyota gave Jim the _You’re On My Shit List_ look before he could finally escape.

The ride back was about as fun as a trip to the dentist. It was about as fun as watching that movie _The Miracle of Life_ , where you’re forced to watch a baby being born with like a zoom camera.

In other words, the ride back was seven kinds of suck and Jim was fucking ecstatic when he unloaded Spock at the front door. Jim had quickly decided on the silent car-ride that he needed his mama, and so he didn’t bother to get out of the car. He just pealed out of the driveway as soon as Spock was indoors.

When Jim slunk in to his mother’s halfway house, he was grateful for Maria being on the phone. He was able to sneak away with a hasty wave and a half-hearted smile – but regardless of that small gift, Jim’s body still cried with the tension his muscles were carrying.

Each step he took towards his mother’s door made him surer that this wasn’t the best decision he’d ever made. Because _really_ , as close as he and Mom had been growing up, Jim wasn’t really sure how comfortable he was talking about his relationships with her. His romantic life had always been a hand he’d kept close to his chest.

But hell, Jim had dropped the entire fucking _deck_ of cards, and he needed someone to help him pick them up again. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it. At least Mom wouldn’t make him feel like a dipshit for it.

Moments later he was being pulled into Mom’s room of light and paper cranes, and being enfolded in thin, warm arms.

“Hey Mama.”

“Kiddo!” Mom held Jim back at arm’s length and grinned. “Good to see you. You’re looking –” she paused and inspected Jim as if she’d smelled something foul. “Well actually, you look like shit.”

Jim had to laugh. In the Kirk household, telling someone they looked like shit was their way of asking if you were okay. “I’ve always admired your tact more than anything.”

“You love it. Stop complaining and tell me what’s up.”

Jim offered a wavering smile, toed off his shoes, and flopped back on the bed. Jim stared at the ceiling. He watched a faded paper crane that was once a Smashmouth CD cover lazily spin in a draft. “You know how it goes. One of Nyota’s parties and I’m paying the price.”

Mom sat on the bed in her usual meditative pose, leaned forward and blocked Jim’s vision of the cranes. She frowned down at him. “You didn’t drink and drive did you?”

“ _Mom_ ,” Jim sputtered, “I’m like, twenty-five! I think I can handle the basics like not killing myself in a fiery crash of intoxicated idiocy.”

She didn’t look convinced in the slightest, but at least she leaned back and gave Jim space again. “Well kiddo, it’s not like you’ve ever been the most street-smart boy.”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “That was always Sam.”

Mom hummed in agreement, and picked at a tattered hole in the knee of her jeans. “Still is.”

Sure, Jim had picked up a few life skills on his excellent adventure towards adulthood. How to win a bar fight – don’t stay still for long and find the nearest exit. How to handle being hit with a chair – turn your body so that only your arm gets hit, and go with the flow of the blow. How to drive a bus at high speed – wait no, not that one.

The point was that while Jim had learned a thing or two in his existence of endless shenanigans, it had never really come naturally for him. He’d been book-smart and intellectual, with a pension for blurting out the first thing that came to his mind – no matter how offensive or socially awkward.

Okay, not much had changed since then - but at least now Jim had a patchwork filter. He had learned through sitcoms and movies and the general media what was politically incorrect, and what made people want to punch him in the face so often. It hadn’t helped that his mom also tended to lack intrinsic grace or poise, and she had rarely corrected his idiosyncrasies over the years.

Sam, however, had always been self-assured and strong. He held a room by walking into it, and not because he was boisterous or ostentatious. He’d been forced to grow up so quickly, that Jim sometimes imagined Sam had never been a kid at all – he’d been Jim’s hero for so long.

When Jim broke his arm falling off a bicycle and Mom had still been at work, it was nine year-old Sam who tossed Jim into his bright red wagon and wheeled him to the hospital. When Jim refused to cry the first time he was bullied at school for skipping a grade and being shorter than everyone else, it was Sam who had told him that it was okay for little brothers to cry, but not the big ones. When Jim went through his angsty teen phase and had punched a hole in the dining room wall, it was Sam who stared at him with disappointment dull in his eyes as he murmured, _I’m sure you’d make Dad proud_.

Sam always had his head on his shoulders. He always knew himself inside and out. He was a regular superhero where Jim never could be. This was why there was no changing his mind when he decided to abandon Riverside– no matter how much Jim begged. Sam had said, _I’m not rotting here_ , and then he was gone.

Some fucking hero.

Jim closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Yeah, he still is.”

A pause stretched like a rubberband at breaking point, and Jim knew what his mother would say before she even asked, “Have you heard from him?”

Jim heaved a sigh. “Not lately, Mom. You know I’d tell you if I did.” How hard was it to send Mom a postcard once in a while? Sam regularly sent a portion of his paychecks, so why couldn’t he send a fucking note? Was he really _that_ sick of this family?

Mom’s voice went subdued as she shifted on the bed and ran slim fingers through Jim’s hair. “Of course. Of course.” She laughed humourlessly, and it pierced straight to Jim’s heart. “He’s so like his father with that independent streak of his.”

Jim instinctively angled his head against the palm of her hand, as his scalp tingled pleasantly from the attention. “I’ve got that too.”

“Not like Sam or George. They’re more, well, selfish than you have ever been.” Mom’s fingers slid away as fondness and regret warred in her tone. “Their independence ran wild, to the point that they didn’t care who they left so long as they could breathe.”

 _Aren’t you the very same_?

Jim bit back the accusation with grinding teeth. He could say a lot of hurtful things when he was in a temper or wasn’t thinking – but there were just some thoughts he could never forgive himself for voicing aloud. That petty part of him which snapped at his heels and hissed snotty things in his ear was just his aching scars. Like anyone else, Jim had a lifetime of pains and struggles under his belt – living half your life with no father and half a mom could do that to a person. But it didn’t mean Jim had any right to lash out at someone as awesome as his mother.

So he opened his eyes and offered his mom a gentle curve of lips. “We’re all selfish, Mama.”

Mom’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, thanks Obi Wan. It’s not like you to be so cryptically introspective. What the hell happened to you? Are you really my son?”

Now that the time to talk about Spock was here, Jim was thinking it wasn’t such a good idea. “I’m fine,” was his half-assed assurance as he sat up with a bright smile that would have fooled anyone but his mother. “Hey, I brought a slasher movie for our viewing pleasure! _Halloween H2O_. I bought it in the bargain bin at Blockbuster like five years ago for two bucks, and it’s total crap. We get to see Tyra Banks die though, so that’s a pl–“

“Jimmy, get over here.” Mom yanked him into a forceful, crushing hug that was more of a threat of impending violence if he didn’t cooperate, than actual parental affection. She released him and allowed Jim to suck in a desperate breath as she demanded, “Spill it. We can do it in two ways. I listen and refrain from commenting, or I listen and comment.”

Jim made a stupid face, but said, “You can listen and comment.”

Mom nodded brusquely and folded her hands atop her lap. “Okay. Hit me.”

They stared at each other intently. Jim was the first to blink, and he shrugged. “I don’t know where to begin.”

“It doesn’t matter as long as you spit it out.”

Jim fought the urge to squirm and failed. “I mean, I just... _ugh_.” He took a breath and met his mother’s steady eyes. “Okay. Spock.”

There, he’d fucking said it. This was going to be a miserable conversation, Jim could already tell.

Mom looked taken aback. “Spock?”

“ _Spock_.”

“Right...” she nodded slowly as she processed the information. “What happened with Spock?”

Jim dragged a hand through his hair, and struggled for the words to describe what a total dick he actually was. It was funny, because he’d been told it enough times that he should be able to spout something by rote. “Well, we...”

Mom’s eyes bugged out. “What, _already_?”

“What – no – _what_?” Jim choked. Now he remembered why he never talked to the woman about his love life. “Mom, we _kissed_ okay! Jesus Christ, don’t make me disable the comment feature.”

“So you two kissed and then?”

And then the shit hit the fan. “And then I was a total dick,” Jim grumbled and melodramatically flung himself back to the mattress. “I basically ignored him for the rest of the night, only to pull him back when I was mind-numbingly drunk and tried to, like – I don’t fucking know – sing songs and cuddle him. I think that’s what happened at least. It’s kind of –” Jim looked at his mother’s foreboding expression. “Of... uh...” He swore her eyes were glowing slightly red. “Blurry.” He whipped his arms over his head and whined, “I _know_ – I know, okay? It was a shitty thing to do.”

Mom gave her classic but rarely-used I Am Disappoint Face #3. “Yes Jim, it was. _That_ was classic Kirk selfishness on display. Spock – hell, _no one_ is your toy. You can’t throw people’s emotions around. That’s how you break or lose the people you love. Trust me, I would know.”

Jim didn’t really think now was a good time to argue that he wasn’t necessarily in _love_ , so he settled for, “I know.”

His mother shook her head and offered a faint smile. “No, I don’t think you do, honey. I mean, I’ve seen you plough through your boyfriends and girlfriends. Don’t think that because you don’t talk about them means I don’t know or hear about them. Moms are born with eyes and ears in places you don’t even want to think about, all right.”

“Great visual,” Jim muttered, but Mom was already marching forth.

“I mean, it’s like harvest time comes along and you chop people off at the ankles under the disguise of some care-free, no-strings-attached James Kirk – when I absolutely know that’s not who you really are. You farm relationships with about as much heart as you treat corn.”

Jim’s face burned and he couldn’t breathe. He had _not_ been expecting that, even from his mother. It was like she’d been desperate to get that message across, but had never found the right opening.

Jim propped himself up on his elbows and scowled at his mother. “Okay, comments are officially disabled because you’re a bitch.”

“A _crazy_ one at that,” Mom added with large, comically manic eyes. “You can’t stop me now.”

“Mom –”

“Jim –”

“I dunno what you’re talking about. People _love_ me. I might be a dick sometimes, but I’m not actually heartl–”

“ _Listen_ ,” she snapped, and Jim instantly clamped his mouth shut. Mom nodded curtly. “You’re upset because you know what I’m saying is true. That’s natural. But let me tell you something.

“You’re my baby – my kiddo. And I _know_ what my own kid is like. I know I haven’t always been around, but I still understand you and no one can tell me otherwise. I’m only being straight because you’re an adult and you deserve it. Would you prefer if I tiptoed around your delicate man-pain like everyone else?”

Jim huffed, but replied, “No.”

“Okay then,” Mom said triumphantly. She cocked her head at Jim. “So then, what’s the problem?”

Unable to sit still any longer, Jim lurched from the bed and to his feet – his hands already wildly gesticulating as he spoke. “The _problem_ is Spock is _leaving_ and I fuckin’–” Jim screwed up his face as his heart thrashed against any admittance of weakness. He whirled to face his mother. “I _really_ like him and he’s leaving – so how do I repress the _like_ and deal with the _leave_?”

Mom frowned at Jim and shrugged. “Why do you have to? Why don’t you like him while you can and cry when he leaves? What’s stopping you from giving yourself over, if not for a few really amazing days?”

Because that _sucks_.

“Because –” Jim stalled as he swallowed a bitter taste in his mouth. His jaw ached from its fight to clamp shut. In a small voice that Jim would deny to his grave, he murmured, “’Cause I’m scared, I guess.”

“Of what?”

“Just... I don’t _know_.”

Of being alone. _Of the people I love always leaving me – they always do_.

Jim didn’t want to perpetuate that cycle. He left before anyone else ever could – and now, when Jim finally felt _home_ with someone, the guy was the first to ditch him.

Jim stared at a crack in the far wall without really seeing it. “Maybe I like him so much _because_ he’s leaving. You know, the novelty or something.”

“Maybe,” Mom replied without sounding like she believed that for a second. “Or maybe you just like him, Jimmy. And _maybe_ you should stop pretending to be easy-going and actually _be_ it for once. Just go out there and be happy for a while. God knows that shit gets harder to do the older you are.”

Jim shrugged. That was a lot to take in, and most of it Jim wasn’t so sure would do any good in his situation. He had to mull it over on his own, without people’s well-meaning pokes and prods. “I dunno. Maybe you’re right. For once, I mean.” A pillow hurtled through the air and thwacked him upside the head.

“I think you mean _always_ , you ingrate! Now stop with the Lifetime movie vibes and let’s watch Tyra Banks get sliced and diced.”

***

Riding on the high of his mother’s words – because damn if she didn’t know what she was talking about, even when she had that murderous glint in her eye – Jim sped home with the radio jangling cheerfully. He was still unsure about how to handle That Spock Thing, but his thoughts were less jumbled on the matter now.

His mom could be right. Falling for someone like Spock wasn’t so bad – like, Jim could have picked way worse people to lose his love virginity to. Spock wasn’t the type of person who would hurt Jim, that was for certain. So what did Jim really have to lose?

Jim could like Spock in whatever way he chose – and when Spock left, yeah it would suck, but the world would keep spinning. Jim would find someone else one day in the future. Fuck – Spock was from _space_ , so it wasn’t like he and Jim were destined to be together in the first place.

If Jim thought about it that way, Spock was like a bonus – and Jim was always one to appreciate the extras in life.

Hell, that was why he always bought the director’s cut DVDs.

It was while Journey’s ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ played on the radio that Jim resolutely decided that he would feel however the hell he wanted, and he would be wholly unapologetic for it.

He just hoped Spock wouldn’t mind.

When Jim arrived home he was greeted by a bouncy, twirling Gumby – and silence otherwise. Jim called Spock’s name twice while he discarded his jacket and shoes, but when he got no reply he went on a search for Spock.

Jim found Spock in his bedroom, sitting on the bed with the laptop propped before him. Spock had only discovered the Internet recently. He tended to spend an hour or two a day hemming and hawing and generally scoffing at the inaccuracies of Wikipedia and whatnot. Jim knew that Spock secretly enjoyed complaining because he probably didn’t get to do much of it back home, so Jim humoured and encouraged him to scour the web.

When Jim entered the room – the door was open, but Jim knocked on the panelling anyway – Spock immediately closed the computer and looked up at Jim with blank eyes. His expression was reminiscent of their first few days together, and Jim felt a trickle of panic slither down his spine.

“Um – hi,” Jim began lamely. Super lame. Lame-o Calrissian.

Spock didn’t reply. He just stared at Jim like some creepy-ass android that hadn’t been switched on yet.

Jim huffed a breath and allowed his shoulders to sag. He was slowly learning that playing like he didn’t care took more energy than just _caring_. “Can we talk?”

“We have the ability of speech, yes,” Spock intoned frostily. He wouldn’t look Jim in the eye.

Jim breathed a short, soft laugh that didn’t necessarily diffuse the situation, but Jim always had a bad habit of laughing when he was nervous or angry. “I know it has to be the human side of you that talks this much shit, because there’s no way a Vulcan would.”

Wrong thing to say. Spock stiffened on the bed and clenched his jaw like a steel trap. Apparently he wasn’t even going to respond to that.

Jim scrubbed his hands over his face, muttering, “So damn sensitive,” and then dropped his palms uselessly at his sides. He offered Spock a crooked smile, one he prayed was charming enough to melt the first coat of ice encasing the Vulcan. “Okay, so let me just start by admitting that I’ve been a total doucheb– incredibly imprudent regarding my manner of conduct the past two days.”

Spock didn’t move from his place on the bed – nor did he speak. But his inky eyelashes swept up as he met Jim’s gaze with a discerning glint.

Jim saw an opening here. He just _knew_ that using fancy words would be better than flowers or food any day. At least, for a Vulcan. Jim wondered if Spock had ever realised just how emotional he was for someone who claimed to be so controlled. Jim hoped Spock _never_ came to that conclusion, because then he might try to change it – and Jim liked him exactly this way. Overly-sensitive and everything.

Er, not that Spock was sticking around much longer, Jim reminded himself with chagrin.

He cleared his throat and inched toward the bed as casually as he could. Which wasn’t very casual at all, and looked more like Jim was preparing a sneak-attack of some sort. “I wanted to clarify what I said earlier. Y’know, about regrets and all.”

When Spock remained silent – and this was actually kind of nice when he wasn’t jumping to ‘logical’ conclusions all over the fucking place – Jim gingerly sat on the edge of the bed. “Uh, what I meant was that I had regretted everything _after_ the, er, kissing and groping. The part where I was an insensitive jerk – which, for the record, I hear I actually am more often than I thought.”

Jim wet his lips in an old habit of nerves, and searched Spock’s face for any spark of warmth. “Look, I’m not good with this Lifetime movie crap. I know I can talk a load of shit, but that’s different. I don’t _do_ this.” Jim flailed his hands emphatically between them, and Spock followed the motion with his eyes. “And I certainly don’t do _this_. Whatever the hell is going on here. But I...”

Taking a chance, Jim placed a hand on Spock’s knee and refused to do it tentatively. Jim squeezed Spock’s leg firmly. “I guess if I had to do this with anybody, it’d be –”

The doorbell rang.

The doorbell fucking _rang_.

Spock shifted to stand. “Jim.”

“Ignore that,” Jim snapped, and clamped down on Spock’s thigh.

No way some asshole was going to ruin _another_ possible moment with Spock. This was simply not happening. Jim’s life was not a sitcom. Hilarious happenstance did not actually exist –and if it did, it certainly didn’t happen to Jim.

Except the doorbell rang again. And again. Like the fucker _knew_ Jim was home and was just going to wait him out.

“For fuck’s sake...” Jim grumbled as he jerked from the bed with a mournful look Spock’s way. “If this is another character of the week I swear to _god_ I will eat my Gandalf hat.”

“What a particularly specific punishment,” Spock murmured under his breath as he followed Jim down the stairs.

Jim’s heart leapt with the hope that at least him and Spock could get back on the rails. Or if possible, on an entirely new track.

He was smugly smiling to himself when he whipped open the door – until a fucking a-bomb dropped, and its name was –

“ _Sam_?”


	9. Chapter 9

“Jim.” Sam nodded, his lips curving faintly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Jim said, simply for the sake of forming coherent speech. His brain was like a stalling car chugging and bumping down a road littered with potholes, barely registering that he needed to step back from the door. “Come on in.”

Sam lumbered into the foyer and clapped Jim’s shoulder as he passed, his hand lingering. His bright blue eyes were warm on Jim’s clammy skin. “You’re not as scrawny as I remember you.”

“Yeah, well doing five years of farm work more or less alone can do that to a guy. I’m a regular Hulk.”

Jim hadn’t meant to say that – but _oh_ , his old friend the word vomit was back. _Whatever_. It wasn’t like Sam didn’t deserve anything Jim shot his way. The guy picked up and left, and now he was back like nothing ever happened. Jim hadn’t been thrilled with Sam’s actions at the time, and the feeling had only been festering up until now.

Sam dropped his backpack and shut the front door, all the while keeping his gaze level on Jim. “Fair enough. Can we go into the kitchen?”

Refusing to be ornery for the sake of it, Jim bit back a childish refusal and nodded stiffly. He turned on his heel and marched to the kitchen without a look back.

Well this was fucking terrible, wasn’t it? Sam being here could only mean a shit-storm was on the forecast. Bastard brothers didn’t just disappear and reappear without reason, Jim knew that much. _Especially_ Sam – a man who never did a spontaneous thing in his life except leave his only family in the dust.

 _Ugh_. All this negativity was making Jim hungry. What he wouldn’t give for some macaroni and cheese and Sunny D. Then again, that kind of comfort food reminded him of Sam making them said meal on lonely nights empty of their mother – or _any_ adult for that matter. Sam had been forced into the role of ‘dad’.

“So?” Jim said as he hefted himself onto a countertop. There was no way was he sitting at the table with Sam; he was choosing the higher ground here. “What’s a dick like you doing in a shithole like this?”

Sam stood in the centre of the room and scrubbed his hands over his face, a soft huff of laughter pressing into his palms. “Is it really going to be like this, Jay?”

With the use of a terrible nickname only Sam ever said, Jim’s fingers clenched around the edge of the countertop. “What _Georgie_ , you were expecting a welcome home party? I haven’t heard from you in fucking _months_ , and now you’re at my front door without an explanation? If there’s one thing daytime TV has taught me, it’s that you can’t trust a relative who returns out of the blue.”

“Daytime TV also convinced you that you had a long-lost evil twin brother somewhere in the world.”

“Hey, you don’t know, man.” Jim clamped his mouth shut, and squared his shoulders against the ease in which he fell into step with his brother. When it came to family Jim was usually a fucking chump, but not this time. “Okay, so what’s the deal? You need money or something, because I’m tight as it gets right now.”

Sam cocked his head. “You really think I’d come all this way to ask you for money, Jim?”

“I don’t know _why_ you’re here!” Jim hopped off the counter and started towards Sam. “I’ve had one hell of a month, and you’re the last thing I need right now. So why don’t we stop dancing around and you tell me exactly what you want from me. If I can give you a hand you know I will –even if I’d prefer to give you a fist in the face.”

Jim glared up at his brother – who was _still_ fucking taller and broader than him.

Sam frowned. “You wanna punch me, Jim? Go ahead, I’ll give you a free one. But after that I’m not taking this shit. I get that you’re angry with me – I really do – but even you have to admit that holding a grudge this long is just selfish.”

“Selfish?” Jim said, his eyes wide as he raked the hardened lines of Sam’s face for answers. “ _You_ think _I’m_ selfish? Oh – oh that is fucking rich. _I’m_ not the one who bailed on family – bailed on _Mom_ , you self-important dickwad.”

“Mom doesn’t need us, Jim,” Sam said, evenly meeting Jim’s glare. “Not five years ago and not now. Do you honestly think she isn’t capable of living a normal life outside the walls of that glorified mental hospital? Do you realise how many years she’s been _hiding_ in there? Ten years, Jim. _Ten_. I’m willing to bet that’s eight years of our combined finances gone to waste, keeping her there when she could be out in the real world like the rest of us.”

Jim’s jaw ached from the bone-numbing clench of his teeth. “How can you say that like some kind of sociopath? Next thing I know you’ll be telling me you’re like Dexter and you need me to help you hide the bodies.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I can see you’re as set on defending Mom as you ever were. You two have always made one hell of a pair.”

“I’m not even going to ask what you’re talking about, because clearly you’re from a different planet where English isn’t the standard language.”

“Avoid the issue all you want.” Sam shrugged and shoved his hands into his pockets. His calm was infuriating. “You and Mom have always been good at that.”

“One of the reasons you left?” Jim snapped.

 _Fuck shit ass damn_. He’d promised himself he’d never ask.

“Jay.” Sam’s expression softened, and the tug of his lips was more a frown than the smile they attempted. “Don’t make my leaving about you or Mom – I know I didn’t. I left because I couldn’t be myself here.”

“I...” Jim took an instinctive step back, his eyes glued on his brother. “I don’t get you, Sam. You can be yourself wherever you go. Hell, you’ve always been one of the most confident people I know.”

Sam smiled sadly and shook his head. “That’s _you_ , Jim. You’ve always moved forward without a thought for anyone else – and hey, I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. You always knew what you wanted and how to get it.” Sam held his hands up and let them drop in a futile gesture. “I didn’t have that luxury.”

“Shut up,” Jim said, his face going hot. “Just shut up. If I’d known you were expecting a pity party and not a homecoming, I wouldn’t have let you in the house in the first place.”

“ _Jim_ ,” Sam said, as if his last thread had been ripped away in Jim’s fist. “Do you think you could listen to a person’s feelings for more than two seconds before shitting yourself and running out the door?”

Jim only then realised that he’d taken several more steps in retreat. He set his face in hard lines and folded his arms across his chest. “Well? I’m listening, Sam. I don’t have all fucking day.”

Sam’s fair colouring and blue eyes aside, his expression was a mirror of Mom’s I Am Disappoint face #5.

“Y’know what, Jim? Nevermind. The amount of times I tried to talk to you back then are too numerous to count, and each time you either had to make everything about yourself, or you just acted like you were too cool to give a shit. You are _just_ like Mom’s doppelgänger, and it’s no surprise she favoured the hell out of you.”

“Wait – what – _wait_.” Jim followed Sam as his brother strode out the room in long, purposeful strides. “Sam, come on – fuck, you’re a stubborn dickhead. Get your ass back here!”

Sam wasn’t listening or he was playing deaf, dumb and dickhead, because he was in the foyer gathering his bag from the floor – when Jim literally leapt onto Sam’s back like a freaking spider monkey.

Jim clamped his arms around Sam’s neck. “You asshat! Don’t think you’re walking away again before you tell me why you’re here in the first place!”

Sam grunted in surprise and stumbled back, slamming Jim’s spine against the wall. They both wheezed with the breath being knocked out of them, but Jim was still shimmying up Sam’s back with a skill that he’d mastered some twenty years ago.

He locked his legs around Sam’s waist. “I’m gonna bite your ear off and eat it with some fava beans and a nice Chianti if you don’t tone down the estrogen here.”

“You’re such a little shit,” Sam said through a rumble of laughter. He clamped his hands around Jim’s wrist and began to bend forward more and more. “But you forgot this move.” And with that, he thunked down headfirst onto the hardwood floor, and did a somersault that ended with Sam splayed on top of Jim, crushing the air out of him.

Jim squirmed and swore breathlessly as he tried to worm his way out from beneath Sam’s back. But Sam just starfished his limbs and laughed at the ceiling.

“This isn’t sanctioned by the Mom Committee of Approved In-House Wrestling Moves, you know,” Jim said as he bit back a whimper and pinched Sam’s side.

Sam scoffed and rolled off Jim as if Mom’s rules still applied. He lay on his stomach and pillowed his cheek on his forearms, his eyes watchful on Jim. “I’m engaged.”

Jim didn’t move. “What – engaged? Engaged in what? Engaged in a battle of wills with me?”

“Engaged to a female of the species.”

“You...” Jim tried to wrap his brain around that. He supposed it wasn’t all that surprising, his brother getting hitched. Sam had only ever had long-term steady girlfriends during high school. He was one of _those_ guys that Jim imagined didn’t even try to get to first base on the second date. Poor shmuck. “Congrats on finding someone batshit enough to enter this family, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Sam wore a really stupid smile. “She’s great.”

Jim made a face. “You look like an idiot.”

“You always look like an idiot.”

“My back hurts.” Jim sat up and winced at his irreparably mangled spine – who ever said he tended to overreact?

“Once the baby, always the baby.” Sam hefted himself to his feet with a groan, and held out a hand to Jim.

Jim scowled, but took the help as he stood and made a show of brushing himself off. Silence prevailed for the first time since Sam had walked through the door. Jim was struck then with how _long_ this day had been and how absolutely shattered he felt.

He eyed Sam warily. “So what now? You’re getting hitched, and what?”

“Let’s talk business later. You look about as tired as I feel. It was a long drive up from Mississippi.”

“That where you were?”

Sam nodded. “So can we stay here?”

Jim blinked. “ _We_?”

“Ah.” Sam’s cheeks coloured faintly. “Aurelan is actually here, in Riverside. She’s just at the grocery store picking up the makings for dinner. I figured if there was one way to butter you up it would be through your stomach.”

“Right. Aurelan,” Jim said in a slight daze. This was all going fast – too fast. And if they were staying here –

 _Spock_.

Oh fuck, Jim had forgotten Spock. Who the fuck did that? Honestly, Jim was more of an idiot with Spock than anyone else in his life.

“Shit.” Jim dragged a hand through his hair, his eyes darting around for any sign of Spock. They’d both come downstairs together, and when Jim had opened the door for Sam, Spock hadn’t been there anymore.

“What? Is there a problem with that?” Sam asked, his mouth going thin.

“ _What_?” Jim yelped. “No – no no, of course it’s fine. Yeah, just fine. I just, uh...”

Sam relaxed into a smile. “This is gonna be good. I can tell.”

“I already have a guest staying with me.” Jim nodded with as much self-assurance as he could muster, while his mind raced with all the ways this was going to go to hell in a hand basket. “He’s a friend of a friend who needed a place to chill for uh, personal reasons? So he’s been crashing here the past couple of weeks.”

 _Heh_. Crashing.

“Really? Is he out right now, or has he been sensibly hiding from us?”

“He’s... around, I think.” Jim looked over his shoulder and up the stairs, then back to Sam. He leaned in to whisper. “Just don’t mention his eyebrows. He’s sensitive about them.”

Sam frowned. “This should be interesting.”

“You have no idea.” Jim’s mind was already elsewhere. “Why don’t you bring your shit upstairs and nap until dinner? Or hell, take a fucking shower because you smell like the Swamp Thing.”

“No worse than when you’d play in Old Lady Lester’s pig pen.”

“Hey man, pigs are one of the cleanest animals on the planet. If given the choice they have separate eating and defecation areas.”

Sam stared at him for a moment, and then barked a laugh. “I’m going to go upstairs and pretend I didn’t hear that, or begin to wonder _how_ you know that.”

“Wise choice,” Jim said with a crooked smile.

It was almost eerily easy to fall into step with Sam. After all, for several years of their lives they’d grown up with no one but each other. Sam had been as much a father figure to Jim as their own mother had been. It was just too damn simple for Jim to disregard his uncomfortable nagging issues with Sam and take the easy track.

With a snap of his fingers, Jim could bury his complaints and move on with a smile.

Unfortunately his ridiculous and good-for-nothing conscience knew that giving his grievances a grave didn’t necessarily mean they were dead. Eventually everything came back as zombies and it was _28 Days Later_ all over again, but with _emotions_ and shit.

Far messier than brains, if Jim had any thought on the matter.

“Oh,” Jim said as Sam lifted his bag and began to trudge up the stairs. “Rooms are switched around up there now. I moved into Mom’s room, yours is the same, and my old one is a guest room.”

“So what the hell room is mine?”

“Yours, obviously. I really did get the brains in this family.”

Sam threw a look over his shoulder, but wordlessly disappeared to the second floor.

Jim absently rubbed his palm across his aching chest and took a moment to silently stand in the foyer. If he didn’t know better he’d say he was still drunk; with the way his world was slowly shifting beneath his feet and leaving him teetering for balance. He needed to find his footing on this new ground before he tripped up and did something stupid.

Taking a centring breath and rolling his shoulders, Jim took a look around. Spock probably wasn’t upstairs; there hadn’t been enough time. That left the laundry closet – and Spock really wasn’t a fan from being stuck in one before – the bathroom, and the office. Jim approached the door to the latter and cracked it open. “Spock?”

Upon sneaking in and shutting the door behind him, Jim shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned at Spock’s profile. Spock stood before the ping-pong table, his palms wide and flat on the cluttered surface, with his shoulder blades bunched up like mountainous terrain as he stared down at Jim’s notes.

“I must depart.”

Jim felt like everything in his chest just evacuated, like an airlock flung open.

“ _What_?” Jim stepped forward, careful to keep his voice low now that they had company.

Spock’s fingers curled up tightly, white fists against the table, his eyes fixed on nothing. “For me to stay would be unwise. I am pleased for you that your brother has returned, as it is clear that you crave his presence. But our situation has become… precarious.”

“ _Precarious_? How the hell do you figure that? I mean, yeah, you’ll need to wear a hat or a hoodie or fucking earmuffs indoors now, and Sam is gonna think you’re crazy – but not any crazier than me. So...” Jim shoved aside the lump in his throat and scowled. “I mean, what the hell are you afraid of here, Spock?”

Spock swerved on him with eyes as hard as steel. “I cannot be discovered, Jim. The few humans who have come into contact with my race were chosen with excruciatingly detailed forethought. They are people we believe we can trust.”

“And me?” Jim said as he approached Spock with colour rising in his cheeks and fire burning behind his eyes. “What about me – am I some kind of exception?”

Spock’s eyes softened, his chest heaving with a soft huff. For a second he looked so fucking beautiful and human – and just as abruptly, the shutters snapped into place and Spock was standing tall and shadowed before Jim.

“We both realise that I can no longer stay, Jim. It is probable that my people will collect me within a week, but it appears as if that is not soon enough.”

Panic rose like bile in Jim’s throat, and his tongue went parched and sour. “So we’ll tell Bones everything and you can stay with him for the remaining time. You can trust him. I know you don’t like him, but he can –”

“No, Jim. I need to leave.”

Jim felt a chill settle within him, like the permafrost that crept across the fields at winter. He took in the assured set of Spock’s lips and eyes, and realised that the last time he’d felt this weak and useless had been upon Mom’s leaving him.

And _fuck_ a duck, if love or whatever this was felt like having a limb torn from your body, Jim didn’t want any part of it. He enjoyed being able to run with both legs, _thankyouverymuch_.

“Right,” Jim said slowly, carefully stepping over his words so that none of his care could float to the surface. “Where would you go?”

Jim felt detached from his body, weightless and rent from real life. If someone was going to come along and rip away his limbs, he might as well escape the pain. He’d become so good at this, it was like riding a fucking bike.

Yeah, he partied and laughed and learned and befriended. But in Jim’s heart, _way_ down there like the mucky waste-disposal pit of the Death Star, was his floundering, goopy, totally unattractive human heart; which he could keep separate from everything and everyone.

Because who would ever really want to journey through all that shit to get to it anyway?

“I am adept at survival in the wild,” Spock said.

Jim stared for a long moment, an incredulous laugh scraping his throat hollow. “The _wild_? I’m sorry Bear Grylls, but this is fucking Farmtown, USA. Everywhere you go is barren fields. Winter is coming on like a bitch, and you freeze your toes off _indoors_ if you’re not wearing socks at all times.”

Spock actually had the nerve to sniff and incline his chin. “I will not allow you to lecture me on my ability to care for myself when you can barely claim the same for _your_ self.”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” Jim snapped, his heart crashing through his ribcage. Even _he_ had enough common sense to recognise the voice in the back of his head saying, _this is not how it should be going, dipshit, don’t make me turn this car around_!

Jim held up his hands in a sign of peace and said, “Wait,” before Spock could rocket forth a reply. “Let’s just chill out. I feel like my life has been switched with _One Tree Hill_ these past few days, and I’m not gonna just sit back and watch that unfold, okay? And I’m far hotter than Chad Michael Murray anyway.”

Spock’s brows scrunched towards each other. “I _am_ leaving, Jim.”

“Is this because of Sam or because of us?” Jim blurted out before he could filter the words. Fuck, he _really_ didn’t want to go into the relationship talk. Would this day never end?

“I –” Spock tugged on the hem of his shirt in sharp motion and looked over Jim’s shoulder. “I should go.”

“Stay.”

Jim didn’t know how else to say it. Anything wordy would sound stupid and contrived. Saying nothing would lead to _nothing_ \- which, despite Jim’s best interests, was the opposite of what he desired.

His lips twisted in an uncomfortable closed-mouth smile, because fuck if saying this wasn’t like pulling teeth for him. “Just stay.”

Spock’s eyebrows winged up, his eyes widening before he blinked twice in quick succession. “I cannot.”

“Stay here.” Jim’s heart seized as he advanced a step, swallowing the gap between them, between all the crap they wouldn’t or couldn’t say just yet.

“Jim.” Spock frowned and looked down at Jim, his eyes like hot chocolate and his cheeks the colour of mint. “I realise it was I who initially pursued you the previous night. But you must realise as well as I that this cannot –”

“Stay.”

It got easier to yank the word from his heart each time.

“ _Jim_.” The sound was more like a purr than a real name, all warm and curled up at the back of Spock’s throat. His eyelids looked heavy, his dark curtain of lashes weighing them down. “You must know that it cannot be this simple.”

What were they talking about now, Jim wondered with muzzy concentration. All he knew was that he was growing drunk on the word, and how it could swim around his tongue and drip from his lips like hot, intoxicating whiskey.

“Stay,” Jim said, his arms curling around Spock of their own volition, seeking confirmation in a way that his words would not allow.

Spock’s hands latched onto Jim’s hips like a lifeline. His gaze fell to Jim’s lips as he watched them curve around a sound that was as close to _I love you_ as Jim felt he could ever get. Couldn’t Spock just _know_ that without Jim having to spell it out? That would make his day – his life – so much simpler.

Smooth fingertips snuck beneath Jim’s shirt and mapped the trail of his spine, encouraging Jim’s back into a languid arch that bumped their hips together and rocketed a zing between Jim’s legs. His mind couldn’t grasp that slippery hold of logic that told him seduction was _not_ the way to get his wish – but Jim rarely listened to his brain unless it involved chemistry and engineering.

Jim cupped the back of Spock’s head, buried his fingers in that increasingly unkempt hair, and pulled Spock in on a hitched breath that matched the uneven pace of his heart. _Stay_ was written on Jim’s lips, forged into his singing skin and now licked into Spock’s mouth with increasing urgency.

The first time they’d kissed, Spock had been drunk. The second time and Jim was floating on the power his words could carry – the thrill-seekers high of stripping himself bare in front of a person who could hurt him, should Spock choose to. Perhaps there was no such thing as being in your right mind when you kissed the person you –

Spock backed Jim up against the table, and it was like the night before all over again. Jim’s thighs welcomed Spock’s lithe hips and the short, dragging circles of his pelvis. Jim’s hands cradled Spock’s jaw, fingertips brushing warm, pulsing temples and flushed ears as they lapped lust into each other’s mouths with breathy moans and open-mouthed kisses.

When everything was reduced to this – well, Jim could handle that. This was doable. _Spock_ was so fucking doable.

Jim allowed himself to fall into the lush, wet heat of Spock’s mouth – chased the taste of spice and _Spock_ , and captured the short catches of breath from his tongue. Spock was slotted in the vee of Jim’s legs, their bodies happy to sloppily grind together in search of that perfect friction.

This was a dance Jim knew all the steps to, and he was fully prepared to teach Spock every move.

“Hello?” A husky southern voice said from the foyer.

Jim and Spock gaped at each other.

There was a familiar plastic rustle of groceries being lugged inside. “I just let myself in, I hope that’s okay. Sam?”

They snapped to their feet in a mad scramble to make themselves presentable. Jim’s face felt like a fireball. “Shit shitting shit,” he said under his breath. “It’s Aurelan. Has to be. _Fuck_.”

Once he was set to rights and his hair smoothed out, Jim fixed on Spock – who looked like a deer in the headlights.

Jim frowned. “What’s the m– oh.” He grimaced at Spock’s green ears. “Um, right – okay.”

The sounds of Sam clomping down the stairs to greet Aurelan sounded through the door as Jim scoured the room for – _bingo_.

“Here.” Jim shoved a hoodie in Spock’s arms.

Spock took it and pulled it on. The scruff of his hair barely overlapped the tips of his ears, but the hood he flipped over his head did the rest of the work.

“Jim?” Sam said in the hall.

“Coming!” Jim eyed Spock for a moment, offering a wavering smile and a shrug. “Here goes nothing.”

Moments later, Jim found himself politely hugging a strong-boned strawberry blonde with dreamy grey eyes and a faint southern drawl.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Jim. Sam’s told me so much about you,” Aurelan said as they separated.

Jim had heard fuck-all about Aurelan, so he just smiled and said, “All interesting things, I hope. I hate to be boring. _Oh_ – Sam, Aurelan – this is Spock. He’s been staying with me for the past few weeks, but um –” Jim slid a sidelong glance Spock’s way and plastered an amiable expression on his face. “I think he may be leaving soon. Isn’t that right, Spock?”

Spock pursed his lips and didn’t reply. Instead he nodded at their guests. “Hello.” He regarded Sam. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I believe it is traditional that I should say I have heard much about you, but that would be a fallacy.”

Sam chuckled just as Jim barked a surprised laugh. Oh man, what a pair he and Spock made. Jim knew they were both socially fucked in their own ways.

“Hi Spock. I’m glad to see Jimmy is playing well with others,” Sam said with a teasing tone. “What exactly brings you to this part of the state? I’m guessing you’re not from around here –”

“ _Well_.” Jim clapped his hands together with a bright smile. “Sam, why don’t you help Aurelan with those groceries, and I’ll set the table?”

“Oh, I’m fine really,” she said with a cheerful smile as she hefted up the heavy, sagging groceries. “Just point me to the kitchen and I’ll get started on supper.”

Jim did so, all the while giving Sam a puzzled look. His brother, however, was intent on openly inspecting Spock with what could only be called the Dad Eye. The kind of look that Jim imagined only fathers gave. Very reminiscent of Bones’ Manic Eye, but less terrifying and more invasive.

Spock stared back without a single implication that he was like, _alive_ , aside from the silent rise and fall of his chest.

When Sam noticed Jim’s scrutiny of him, his lips nudged into a small smile. “Aurie is kind of independent. Don’t be surprised if she won’t even let you open the door for her. She’s not used to relying on anyone but herself.”

“That sounds pretty familiar these past few years,” Jim said without checking with his goddamn brain first.

Sam’s lips thinned as his eyes went flat and flinty. “Y’know Jay, you can’t be the superhero _and_ the victim at the same time. One day you’ll have to choose."

“ _Hey_.” Jim barged into Sam’s space, teeth bared in automatic defence. “You’re in _my_ house now, Sam. Don’t think I won’t –”

“I’m sorry.” Sam was speaking to Spock. “I must be making a classic Kirk first impression here. Easy to fall back into old habits, I guess. I’m just going to... get a fire going in the front room. It’s going to be a bitter night.”

Sam aimed a last stony look Jim’s way before he brushed past and disappeared.

Jim’s jaw ached and creaked from the clench of bone and muscle, with his fingers and joints whimpering in balled fists. Zeroing in on the grain of the hardwood floor, Jim said, “What I wouldn’t give to _shoryuken_ that asshole.”

When Spock didn’t reply or react, Jim straightened his spine and swept his arm out in a grand gesture in the direction of Sam’s escape. “And _that_ , Spock,” Jim said with a smile that split and cracked his face. “Is Sam. My hero.”

Spock took a stuttering step towards Jim, his expression pensive and unsure. Eyebrows lowered and scrunched, he stood before Jim and brushed his fingertips across the angle of Jim’s elbow. Barely there, but undoubtedly reaching out to him.

“Jim,” Spock said in a hushed tone. “As you say, if there is one thing television has taught me, it is that when one character exits the vicinity, the other party must follow in order to mend the relationship."

Jim boggled up at Spock, wondering who the hell this person was and what he’d done with Jim’s Vulcan. There was a tickle in Jim’s chest, and he couldn’t help but hiccup a disbelieving laugh. He shook his head with a smile and scrubbed a hand down his face.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. But this is where the CW drama bullshit is put to rest.”

He clapped Spock’s shoulder roughly and grinned. “You see if Aurelan could use a hand in the kitchen. I’ll go...” Jim waved a hand vaguely. “ _Dramaticise_.”

“That is not a word.”

“Is now."

Jim turned away and smirked to himself as he approached the doorway to the front room. He leaned against the frame, temple resting on the wood as he watched Sam throw a couple of dry logs into the fire.

Jim chewed on his bottom lip briefly. “Remember when we almost burned the house down?”

“Which time?” Sam didn’t turn, but Jim could sense his smile.

“The Christmas when I was like, ten. You kicked the soccer ball into the fireplace, and it sent all those sparks onto the wrapping paper. Why, which time were you thinking of?”

Sam settled back onto the couch and grinned up at Jim. “Pizza wrapped in tin foil, zapped in the microwave.”

Jim matched his brother’s expression, and ambled slowly over with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Classic. That one happened more than once.”

“For someone so brilliant, you can be a serious knucklehead.”

“Right back atcha, dickwad,” Jim said with little heat as he flopped beside Sam. Releasing a long sigh, Jim lolled his head to the side and met Sam’s eyes. “I’m not gonna apologise for anything, you know. So don’t hold your breath.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. “Right back atcha, dickward.”

Jim scowled. “So, what now? This a stalemate or something?”

It was Sam’s turn to sigh. He shifted and frowned at the ceiling. “Why do you have to act like we’re at war, Jim? Because we’re not – at least, not to me.”

Jim stiffened up, but refused to move from his seemingly-relaxed position. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe because you left me and Mom high and dry so you could – what is it that you do? Ride _barges_ up and down the Mississippi? How’s that been for you, Sam? Knowing that I was left here taking care of _everything_ , while Mom acted like you were a god for sending monthly checks and I was the consolation prize?”

Sam didn’t even appear phased. He was always good at going to that Jedi place during rows. “Yes, finding myself was worth leaving Riverside. Thanks for asking.”

Sam turned and curled his leg up beneath him as he faced Jim.

“Look Jim, I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m the favourite son here. You look like Dad, but you’re not _like_ him. I don’t much look like him, but I’m Dad through and through. The older I got and the more responsibility I was forced to take on with you and _her_ and everything, the more like Dad I had to become to keep us together. For Mom it was like living with a mini version of her dead husband. She could hardly talk to me on some days – others she just completely ignored me.

“You never noticed, of course. She’d let you do whatever you want, Jim. Let you be free of the Kirk drama as much as you could be. Even if you looked like Dad, your personality made you into someone else. I was always just...”

Sam shrugged and smiled, too carefree for the pop and hiss of fire and tension choking up the room.

“And I don’t mind anymore. I don’t. I used to, around the time I left. I hated this place, my life - the person I knew I was supposed to be, but couldn’t. But now I’m back and things are good.”

Logs split and cracked in Jim’s periphery, and he could swear his eye twitched in time.

That was nice and all, the whole self-discovery gig. But at the end of the day Sam had left, and you don’t just leave family no matter how shitty life got. The Corleone family from _The Godfather_ movies had the idea down pat, minus all the murdering and shit. That Sam didn’t seem to comprehend or adhere to this same strong sense of family pissed Jim the fuck off.

“Did you practice that speech on note cards ahead of time, or…?”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Jim.” Sam lurched from his seat and stood, tension rippling from him in waves. “Do you ever listen to anything aside from the sound of your own voice?”

“Um, _yes_. I listen to Queen fairly often, if you really wanna know.”

Sam folded his arms across his chest in the universal Kirk gesture for I Hate My Life, and glowered down at Jim. “I forgot how much you love to pick fights. Never grew out of that, did you?”

Jim rolled his eyes, feeling seventeen again. He was annoyed with himself for acting like some snot-nosed kid. Fuck that shit. Fuck this shit. Sam wasn’t going to guilt trip him when Jim had perfectly valid reasons for being upset.

Jim slouched back further into the cushions and crossed one leg, with his foot teetering on his knee. He grinned lazily up at his brother. “Well, it seems we have reached an impasse. I’m starved, what are we eating?”

Sam blinked at Jim, and then looked to the ceiling with a perplexed punch of laughter. “One day I’m actually going to strangle you. But for now, I’m gonna go out to the car and bring in our bags.”

Still shaking his head to himself, Sam loped toward the exit. His hand caught and gripped the doorframe halfway out, and he looked back with a frown.

“Hey, Jim? About Spock. He’s a decent guy, right? Not giving you any trouble or anything?”

Jim looked at Sam like he was crazy. “Yeah _Dad_ , he’s a decent guy. Be nice to him. I know for a fact he knows like, kung-fu or something and would Bruce Lee your ass.”

Sam just smirked and left the room, giving Jim a moment’s peace.

This day would no doubt go in Jim’s books as one of the worst ever. Or best? He hadn’t quite made that decision yet. There was the hangover and the drama and the mom-talk of awkward proportions, and then the total whoring of his body to shut up Spock.

But then again, there was the total whoring of his body to shut up Spock, and the fact that Sam was _home_ and _happy_ , and had a woman who apparently wasn’t going to run screaming into the distance at the first whiff of dysfunction.

Jim supposed that he could let the day’s positive and negative situations just neutralise each other, and thus make this a day like any other. That line of reasoning would certainly make it easier for Jim to get through the remainder of the night. As long as he kept smiling and talking and avoiding the subject of Spock, things would be fine.

 _Spock_.

Jim’s chest constricted, with time dragging slow and heavy as he listened to the grandfather clock thunk away the seconds. His lungs felt stuffed with cotton, his breath fuzzy in his ears as Jim stared down at his knees with abrupt sobriety.

Was Spock staying?

A stone weighed hard and heavy in the pit of Jim’s gut.

Would Spock leave _tonight_? Where would he go? Would he miss Jim at all?

When had Spock begun to matter so fucking much?

For Jim, it still felt as if Spock had crashed into his cornfield just yesterday. At the same time, it felt as if Jim had known Spock forever. Like they’d always orbited each other, and this month gravity had served to guide them closer together.

It was a romantic notion, and one that further churned Jim’s stomach with anxiety and disbelief. Jim wondered how many more revelations he could take in regards to Spock. It was like each time he’d come to accept his attraction to the guy the feeling grew exponentially, until he thought he just might burst at the seams with it.

Jim was changing – evolving every day. He felt that in his muscles and joints, just as he’d experienced the aches of growing pains as a teenager.

Spock was different, too. Just a little while ago he was imitating Jim’s form of speech – and hell, giving _advice_ and emotional support, of all things. He even ventured to make Jim laugh these last few days. It seemed like with each night that passed, Spock awoke more comfortable in his own skin. More _human_ , even.

Fuck, the guy was practically bending Jim over all manner of tables and home appliances. Jim would bet his Pokémon card collection that Vulcans didn’t normally go around doing shit like that.

So – when had Spock begun to matter so much? At what point had he snuck so firmly beneath Jim’s skin?

Jim didn’t know. There was no real reason to try and figure it out, either. The only reason for deconstructing his puzzled feelings would be so he could throw those pieces out. Then life could be safe and simple once more.

With a hefty sigh, Jim heaved himself from the couch and meandered into the kitchen.

Aurelan and Spock stood hip to hip, with Spock – still wearing the hood over his ears – frowning down at whatever Aurelan was vigorously chopping. A eight quart red stew pot sat on the stove, blue flames licking beneath with the scent of onions, celery and carrot wafting through the air. Gumby seemed to have been won over by Aurelan, because he was sitting at her heels with his butt wiggling on the floor in anticipation of dropped food.

The kitchen was bathed in warm, golden light and succulent smells, with the large windows that faced the backyard portraying midnight blue and nothing else. Aurelan’s smoky voice murmured quietly to Spock, who had an ear tilted in her direction as he peered curiously into the pot.

Jim heard Sam turn on the radio in the living room. An unidentified artist crooned, yellow is the colour of my true love's crossbow, yellow is the colour of the sun –

And Aurelan laughed at something Spock had said, and rather abruptly everything felt like _home_.

Like this was home.

Sam passed Jim, dragging a warm palm across his shoulder as he moved on towards Aurelan.

“What are we making?”

Aurelan laughed and angled to look over her shoulder. “ _We_? Darlin’, you can hardly cook an egg, let alone gumbo. Why don’t you just sit down and look pretty, while I teach Spock a thing or two about southern cooking.”

Jim chuckled and finally stepped fully into the room. “Hear that, Sam? _You’re_ the pretty one. I get to be handsome and strapping.”

Spock stirred the contents of the pot and quietly said, “Stating that Sam is pretty does not make the descriptor exclusive to only one brother.”

Jim grinned good-naturedly as everyone had themselves a chuckle at his expense. He didn’t care. In fact, having Spock backhandedly compliment him in a room full of people – well, two people – was enough to have Jim’s cheeks flushing, and not on account of the humid kitchen.

“Hey,” Jim said with a frown as he approached the cooks of the night. He peered between their shoulders and eyed the sausage and chicken laid out on the counter. “Spock, what are _you_ gonna eat? Gumbo’s not exactly grass-nommer friendly.”

Aurelan visibly flinched as she shifted to gape at Spock. Her pale, round cheeks went pink.

“Oh shit - I mean _shoot_ \- you’re a vegetarian. Oh _Spock_ , why didn’t you say something earlier? We’ve got the makings of a salad. I didn’t know what everyone liked, so I just grabbed a bit of everything. Oh gosh, I didn’t even –“

“Okay, Aurelan?” Jim took her lightly by the shoulders and offered a genuine smile as he tried not to laugh at her flustered speech. “First off, breathe. The world has not ended. Second, Spock hardly even eats, so I think he’ll be fine with the salad and like, bread. Right Spock?”

“Of course. I had not intended to distress you with this information. I was and am content to learn the art of gumbo, regardless of whether or not I would partake in it at dinner.”

“Are you sure?” Aurelan asked, fiddling with the murderously massive knife in her hands.

“I’m always sure of _everything_ ,” Jim said with a grin. “Now, tell me what I need to do to help make gumbo appear.”

“Hey,” Sam said from the kitchen table. He looked at his wife with mock woe. “What about me?”

Jim gave him a pointed look. “Sit pretty, obviously.”

Sam scowled, but did as he was told. Aurelan was right, anyway. Even in all the years Sam had been in charge of Jim, he’d never gotten the hang of cooking. Anything past microwaving or pouring directly into a bowl was too challenging for Sam.

So as they all chopped and fried and cooked and baked, Sam regaled them with stories of his travels up and down the Mississippi. How he met Aurelan while she worked at a New Orleans patisserie, with powdered sugar on her cheeks and a hideous frilly apron sewn from old curtain. How she had looked horrified with Sam the first time he’d made a pass at her, and how she turned down several dates because she’d assumed he was just some creepy drifter passing through.

Jim couldn’t recall the last time he’d had so many genuine laughs with a group of people like this. As much as he instinctively dominated conversation, he wasn’t obligated to entertain tonight. The kitchen was host to Sam and Aurelan, and they were the stars of the evening.

They served dinner in the dining room, which felt weird as fuck for Jim. But it wasn’t like they could all sit on the floor in the front room and watch TV, as they shovelled gumbo in their mouths. Well, it sounded fairly ideal to _Jim_ \- but Mom had taught him how to be a decent host, and he wouldn’t disappoint.

Jim spent most of the night badgering Aurelan with questions. Not about her and Sam’s relationship, of course, but the more important things: Did Han Solo fire first? Was _Inception_ all a dream? Who is the most powerful mutant? Mac or PC?

Very important shit.

And while Jim was growing to learn that Aurelan was _barely_ more knowledgeable about pop culture than Spock was, Sam spent much of his time staring far too hard at Spock from the opposite end of the table. Jim had purposely sat Spock as far away from Sam as possible. He didn’t want Sam going into Dad mode, nor did he want any unnecessary interrogations to arise from that.

Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time before there was a natural lull in the conversation, and Sam had a moment to jump in.

“So, Spock. What do you do?”

Spock set down his fork and knife and looked up, as if he had been expecting this. He probably was. Mind-reading bastard – goddammit, he was so awesome, though.

“I am an explorer and a scientist.”

“Explorer?” Sam frowned. “What exactly does that entail? What’s left to explore?”

“Space,” Spock said simply, with his eyebrows raised, as if daring further query.

Sam nodded, although he didn’t look particularly appeased by the reply. “So who do you work for, NASA?”

“Something akin to that.”

“If you don’t mind my asking, where is it that you’re fr–”

“So, Aurelan,” Jim said with a bright grin. “Do you have a big family back home?”

Aurelan mirrored Jim’s smile. “Oh no, not really. I grew up with just my mother.” Her gaze swept warmly to Sam, who was still looking at Spock even as he was pretending to finish the remainder of his meal. “I always wondered what it would be like to have a sibling whom I could rely on, like you and Sam.”

Jim was about to say something scalding that he hadn’t thought through in the slightest, when Sam said to Spock, “Do you have family around here, Spock?”

“Not within the state,” Spock said, his glance flicking to Jim for only a moment.

“Siblings?” Sam propped his elbows on the table and leaned forward.

“A half-brother.”

“ _What_?” Jim said before he could stop himself. He boggled at Spock. “You didn’t tell me that.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “You never inquired.”

“Yeah, well –” Jim masked a scowl by stuffing cornbread in his mouth and talking around it. “I thought you’d wanna exchange brother stories or whatever. Is he from your mom’s side of the family or what?”

Spock shook his head faintly, his gaze falling to his plate for a moment. “No. He is my father’s child from a previous bon– marriage.”

“Older or younger or secret evil twin?” Jim asked, barely cognisant of the fact that he was turning into Sam on the spot.

“Older.”

Jim grinned. “Awesome like me or lame like Sam?”

Sam laughed, and the mounting tension dissolved.

The remainder of the night went smoothly enough. There were no _Meet the Fockers_ moments, at least. After dinner, Spock excused himself to take his nightly shower, and Aurelan padded upstairs to change into her pajamas. Sam and Jim were left on dish duty.

“So, what _is_ the plan?” Jim found himself asking as he dried a daisy-patterned dish.

“Regarding?”

“Founding a Fight Club in the basement - what do you _think_? All this marriage stuff. I mean, are you two moving in?”

Sam frowned and plunged his hands into the soapy water. “That was the plan, if you were agreeable to it.”

Jim would have to move out, he realised. Sam would never say it, Jim knew that. Aurelan didn’t exactly seem like the type to kick him out on his ass, either. But Jim couldn’t stay here while those two began to create a life together. The farm needed to go to them – to their future family.

Although who would take care of everything that had to be done? Would Sam fill the boots of a farmer again, or would he sell the land and do something new with himself? Sam seemed to get a kick out of demanding more from life, and Jim couldn’t hold that against him; he had the same nature. It was just that Jim never pursued it past the county line.

Soon this house wouldn’t be Jim’s home. Well, it would always be home, but it wouldn’t be _his_ house. And he wouldn’t be a farmer any longer. What the hell did you do with yourself when all you ever did was one thing for your entire life? Well _fuck_ – where was Mr. Miyagi when you needed him?

“I’m going to take your deafening silence as a huge no, then.” Sam sounded wrung out and stressed and just a little angry.

“ _What_? No – fuck off, man. I was just thinking, is all. Yeah I mean, _yeah_ – it’s obviously fine for you two to move in. It’s your home too.”

Sam’s broad shoulders sagged with relief as he nodded and handed Jim a wet dish. “Thanks.”

Jim laughed hollowly and took the plate. “Don’t thank me. You’re family, it’s what we do.”

“Speaking of family.”

“Excellent segue. What about it? You pregnant or something?”

Sam didn’t laugh. His brow crumpled as he continued to look down. “Aurie and I are going to visit Mom tomorrow. Figure we might as well get it over with.”

Jim nearly dropped a plate. “Be careful.”

Sam sighed. “She’s not as delicate as you both convince yourself she is.”

“How would _you_ know?” Jim asked, straining to keep his voice modulated. “You’ve been away playing fuckin’ Huck Finn.”

“What I _know_ is that Mom has always been stronger than she’s imagined herself to be. I’m not saying she’s not sick, but after ten _years_ of hiding from the world, she has to be more than ready to return.”

“And _how_ are you so certain of that?” Jim said as he chucked the washcloth against the wall and pushed away from the counter. “You weren’t there. Haven’t been for what feels like forever. You don’t know Mom as well as I do, and you _never_ have.”

Sam didn’t face Jim. His posture was straight, but his head hung low. His voice scraped at Jim like sandpaper.

“And this is my fault?”

 _Fuck_. Jim didn’t want to think of what that implied. Why couldn’t this be simple? Clean cut and easy? Was it really a crime for him to desire a carefree, fulfilling life off family, friends, food and fucking?

“Just don’t be a complete dick to her, or I won’t hesitate to rip you a new one,” Jim said as he turned away and escaped the room. He didn’t want to hear Sam’s reply, because it might’ve been something painfully truthful – like pointing out what a dick _Jim_ was being.

Exhaustion weighed on Jim, heavy as the One Ring. He dragged himself up the stairs with Gumby following at his heels. Jim passed the bathroom, smiling to himself when he heard the shower running and Aurelan humming something that sounded like Ray Charles’ _Georgia_.

It was nice to have a female presence in the house. A home like this could be vast and lonely without people to fill it with laughter and love. Jim was beginning to remember that now.

Jim paused before Spock’s door and frowned. What was Spock? Friend or estranged family or fuck-buddy?

Well, Jim wouldn’t dwell on it. He was just plain tired of this never-ending day. Today was possibly worse than the entire plot and premise of _The Neverending Story III_.

Jim knocked softly. “Spock?”

A pause and then, “Enter.”

Jim slipped in and shut the door behind him. His face broke into a grin and his heart did somersaults at the sight of Spock just out of the shower. With his wet hair only towel-dried, it stuck out in all kinds of awkward angles and spikes. Spock sat on the edge of the bed in flannel pajama pants and a plain white tee, looking exceptionally fresh-faced and youthful.

It was then that Jim recalled how very similar in age they were, and how old he sometimes felt. Well - fuck that shit. Jim would fight age to the very end. He would be a twenty-something forever.

“I like you like this,” Jim said, and approached Spock.

Spock’s eyes were all wary, warm whiskey and inky lashes paired with a delectable frowning mouth.

“Why?” Spock asked in a low voice, as Jim invited himself onto Spock’s lap and straddled his thighs.

Jim shrugged and threaded his fingers through Spock’s damp, fragrant hair. Droplets of water trailed down Jim’s hands like cool veins.

“Dunno,” he lied. “Just do.” Lightly tugging Spock’s head back, Jim leaned in and hovered his mouth above Spock’s. The fact that Spock was allowing Jim to navigate him had all kinds of bombs going off inside him.

Jim searched Spock’s eyes, unsure exactly of what he was looking for. “We good? I mean, after all the shit that went down the past couple days. It’s all been kind of –” Overwhelming. Terrifying. Fast. Amazing. “Yeah. So... are we?”

Spock raised an eyebrow and managed to look superior, even when his pale neck was exposed and lips awaited Jim’s.

“It appears so. For now.”

That was good enough for Jim. For now.

Jim surged forward and sighed into Spock’s warm, wet mouth. He licked into him and relished the hot, liquid pull that would weaken his knees if he weren’t sitting on Spock’s lap. Spock was silent, but for the abrupt huff of breath and faint shudder when Jim cupped his face and angled the kiss deeper.

And that was all Jim needed, too. Spock’s little sounds – the assurance of his strong hands and hips – the sharp edge of desperation glinting in Spock’s gaze.

Jim tilted his chin, his arms slinging around Spock’s neck as Spock trailed moist, open-mouthed kisses down his throat and –

Jim yawned. Not even a yawn that he could mask, but a full-on high school teacher lecturing you on the dangers of sex before marriage kind of yawn. Jaw-cracking yawn.

They both froze – and damn if Jim didn’t start shaking with silent giggles. Little squeaks and whimpers of laughter eked out as he slumped and rested his cheek on Spock’s shoulder.

“Is this somehow amusing for you, Jim?” Spock asked in the most monotone of monotones.

“I’m – _pfff_ – so sorry, Spock – oh god – just. So tired, I guess.” Jim hiccupped with laughter as Spock’s arms tentatively came around him, with one hand rubbing gentle circles into his back. Jim sighed, his eyes fluttering shut as he felt himself unfold under Spock’s careful ministrations. “Magic hands,” Jim said in a slurred voice. “You’d make a great wizard.”

“I am sure,” Spock said. “Go to sleep, Jim.”

“Don’t leave, Spock. Stay.”

 _Stay_.

Jim didn’t know why he said it, only that he was too strung out and tired to give a shit. It was so fucking exhausting to filter himself when he wasn’t used to it. Jim yawned again and nuzzled Spock’s neck.

Spock didn’t reply. Didn’t say a word as he bundled Jim in his arms and settled him upon the bed. Didn’t speak as he tugged off Jim’s pants and shirt and tucked him in.

Jim didn’t mind. This was all a-okay, because soon Spock had slipped beneath the covers and curled up behind Jim like the big spoon.

In Jim’s mind, this was Spock’s way of saying, _For now_.


	10. Chapter 10

Jim had spent the night turning into Mr. Freeze and pondering a future life of crime.

Mostly because Spock had cocooned the entire comforter around himself like a pig in a blanket. Sleeping with a spidery-limbed Vulcan was _not_ as awesome as one would think.

Not that many knew of Vulcans to ponder sharing a bed with one in the first place, Jim thought as he lurched to his feet and considered his odds for getting hypothermia.

But if someone – say _Jim_ , for example – had considered that cuddling with a Vulcan would be a blast, or even slightly sexy, all of those dreams were dashed by morning.

Still, Jim couldn’t help but look over his shoulder, reach back, and ruffle Spock’s increasingly scruffy hair. The poor guy’s bowl-cut was growing like a weed. He must have been one of those kids who had needed cuts every two weeks to stay looking neat.

Not that Jim would know anything about it. As a kid his hair had been hacked at about four times a year. His mom had tended to let it grow out like a golden lion’s mane, while Sam had liked to have his head shaved military-style. His brother probably had a smart thing going, because the amount of times young Jim had gotten gum or some other viscous material stuck in his hair were too many to count.

Hell, he’d _still_ get things in his hair, except it was more a la Cameron Diaz than bubble gum.

Exhaustion still weighed upon Jim like a steel mantle as he got up and padded across the chilled floor to the closet. He felt rested enough, but he could really use a day to just laze around, and Jim had the sneaking suspicion that today would not be one of those days.

It seemed like forever ago since Jim was keeping his distance on the couch from Spock as they watched _Lord of the Rings_. Or when Spock made something with broccoli that Jim literally spat on the floor, in his haste to get it the hell out of his mouth. It seemed like years since they danced in the living room to Disney music while Joanna giggled and Spock looked terrified. Jim wanted all of that back, even though it hadn’t really left yet.

Actually, no. It wasn’t just that he wanted it back – he wanted this to continue. Him and Spock. Him and Spock and his friends, like some rom-com that wasn’t so shitty after all.

But much to Jim’s persistent dismay, life was not a television show. Things didn’t wrap up in episodes and relationships didn’t mend and evolve every time. Sometimes they fizzled away without notice, while others remained static and boring. Jobs could be tedious or fun, but they rarely involved cutesy, brightly-coloured Disney sets or coffee shops.

This was Jim’s life, and it was running and changing every hour. Jim just wished he knew when the season finale was coming so he could prepare the Kleenex and comfort ice cream.

After he’d bundled up in preparation for the icy blue November morning, Jim headed downstairs and out the back door with a Gumby who was hesitant to step foot on the frosty ground. Gumby had never been a fan of winter.

Moving at a slower than average pace, Jim lumbered through his chores. He murmured to the horses about his day as he groomed and walked them, and sang some slower tunes under his breath as he went about mucking stables and lugging around hay.

Jim wondered again if the farm would stay. He wondered if he really cared all _that_ much. It wasn’t like he’d known anything but this life, so maybe he was just creepily attached to the place for wimpy emotional reasons. Maybe he wouldn’t feel a thing once Sam sold the land – _if_ he sold the land.

“Hey,” Sam said from behind him.

Jim startled and slapped a hand to his heart as he stood. “Fuck, man! Don’t sneak up on a guy like that.”

“Sorry,” he said as he shoved his hands into his pockets. Sam was underdressed for the weather – no coat or hat or anything. He looked like he’d stepped outside just to talk to Jim. “You need help with anything?”

Need? No. _Want_ , on the other hand.

“No. Manage on my own just fine.” Jim puffed out a breath and watched it fly away in the cold morning light.

“You always do,” Sam said with a smile that was more of a frown than anything. “I just wanted to let you know that Aurie and I will be out all day. We’re seeing Mom and then going straight to Carol’s.”

“Carol Marcus?” Jim asked with a grin.

Carol had been Sam’s best friend throughout high school – way too gorgeous and way too out of Jim’s league. It hadn’t stopped him from leching on her at every opportunity, but Jim had been a scrawny kid back then and too young for anything serious. Still, Jim had dreamed. Oh yeah.

Sam huffed a laugh even as his teeth began to chatter. “The very same.”

“God, she never gave me the time of day, did she?”

“Me neither. Kirk boys weren’t her type, I guess.”

They smiled at each other like idiots.

“Well, when you see her make sure to drop in about five times how sexy and irresistible I’ve become.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, not happening. She’s married.”

Jim waggled his eyebrows. “Married women love me especially.”

“And on that note I’m heading in before I freeze my face off. Forgot how damn cold it is up here.”

Jim shooed Sam away and rolled his eyes. “Don’t be a pussy – get outta my sight.”

“I’ll see ya later tonight,” Sam called over his shoulder.

“Be nice to Mom!” Jim yelled at Sam’s retreating back. He sighed as he watched his brother go inside, and wondered what mess he’d have to clean up by tomorrow. Dammit, sometimes it was really inconvenient to love his family as much as he did.

Jim dragged his heels back in the house some hour later, feeling frozen to the bone. He just wanted a nap right now, and by nap he meant like ten more hours of sleep. But then there was the realisation that he had the entire house left to him and Spock, and they probably had stupid shit to talk about that Jim wanted to – and _would_ – avoid by all means possible.

Talking got boring, doing stuff was more fun. And if he sounded like a six year old boy for saying that, so be it.

Jim herded Gumby indoors and they both clomped upstairs. Spock’s door was still closed, despite it being an hour at which he was usually awake. Jim shrugged at Gumby and headed to the guest bathroom. He didn’t want to trudge through Spock’s room and wake him up if he didn’t need to.

Apparently Gumby was desperate for some Jim time, because he tried to follow his master into the bathroom. Jim stared at the plaintive spaniel’s big brown eyes and sighed.

“Fine. You can come in, but you can’t jump in the shower this time. I don’t wanna smell like wet dog.”

Gumby wiggled his butt with barely restrained glee, and spent the entire shower standing on the bathmat and whining at Jim through the curtain. Jim chatted to him while he scrubbed up, and considered that proper daddy-son bonding for the time being. They would play some fetch later today.

First, food. Er, well – first, clothes. Then food.

Jim found that Spock’s room was empty by the time he got out and the door wide open, so he strode inside and unearthed a pair of holey sweatpants and a plain blue v-neck. As he padded barefoot down the chilly stairs Jim regretted not getting socks, but he was too lazy to go back for them. Halfway down was just too long a journey.

Spock was, of course, in the kitchen. Jim wished he didn’t find it so fucking adorable. He wished he’d stop thinking words like ‘adorable’.

“Well, aren’t you becoming a regular Martha Stewart.”

Spock shot a look over his shoulder as he sprinkled what looked like cinnamon and sugar over a wide, thin slab of white dough and butter.

“Is that a positive or negative comparison?”

“It’s cute that you care,” Kirk said with a grin as he shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered over. His fingers itched to reach out for Spock – it was like a phantom ache, as if he was meant to touch Spock, and if he wasn’t then something was off. Jim felt like he had a spidey-sense, but all it was good for was nagging him when Spock wasn’t in his immediate vicinity.

 _Fuck_ , he was becoming needy. And clingy. Next stop: Norman Bates levels of creep.

Spock didn’t appear amused by Jim’s observation, but he didn’t look displeased as he returned to his baking prep without a word.

Jim worried his bottom lip with his teeth and sidled up beside Spock. All joking aside, Jim felt awkward regarding the previous night’s insecurity. And he felt aggravated that he felt awkward about it in the first place.

As icing on the layered cake of emotion, Jim was beginning to wonder what _Spock_ thought about all of this. Because fuck if the guy had said less than Jim on the subject of This Thing. Contrary to common assumption, Jim didn’t actually enjoy surprises – well, except surprise parties and blowjobs, of course.

If he jumped off a bridge, it was Jim’s decision. If he kissed someone he liked with the hopes that it would go further, it was Jim that instigated that chance.

Sure, Jim was a daring guy – on _his_ watch.

A lot of people went out with Jim expecting a laidback, fun and free kind of relationship. Yeah, Jim was all of those things – but he was also controlling as hell. He needed to be the leader under all circumstances. He needed to make the choices. He could trust _himself_. But other people... well, who really trusted anybody, right?

So after last night’s debacle, and Jim’s little begging scene that would never be thought or spoken of from this day forth, Jim needed something.

Something solid.

Jim watched Spock’s long, pale fingers glittering with sugar as he rolled up the dough. Jim licked his lips and swallowed audibly.

Or maybe he just needed to get laid.

Seemed like the more he hung out with Spock, the more Jim felt the stubby fuse of his control burning out – and Jim was really beginning to feel the heat.

“You makin’ cinnamon rolls?” Jim asked, even when he knew the answer.

Spock hummed from the back of his throat; a distracted purr of assent that had Jim’s thighs feeling like melted butter.

Christ, when was the last time Jim had felt like a horny teenager around someone?

Possibly never. Never _this_ abruptly and powerfully. Not like now, with Spock dragging him around by the balls at his bid and beckoning call.

Luckily for Jim, he was fairly confident that Spock was oblivious to this fact. Jim’s pride was safe for now.

Kinda.

Yay?

“Can I help?” Jim didn’t like to stand around feeling useless. Especially when it gave him time to imagine what Spock’s face would look like if he sucked that cinnamon-sugar right off Spock’s fingertips.

Yeah, they’d made-out and groped each other, but nothing had gone past that. Jim wasn’t the type to press someone further if he sensed they weren’t the type to go for that sort of thing.

Then again, Spock had attacked him on the dryer – but _drunk_. That still left them at ground zero.

Again, Jim couldn’t go further without getting a feel for where Spock was. For all Jim knew, Spock was already mentally packing his bags and Jim had been a very fascinating bonus to the entire crash disaster.

With the private little fantasy of curling his tongue around Spock’s fingers drifting through Jim’s thoughts, Jim shifted and his bare arm brushed Spock’s.

The jolt that wracked through Spock looked like a lightning strike, and had Jim sucking in a sharp breath as he grabbed Spock’s biceps to brace him.

“ _Spock_?” he said with imploring eyes.

Spock’s mouth was flushed emerald, with his lips parted softly as he stared at Jim with pupils eclipsed and his breathing near nonexistent.

“Um,” Jim said after a moment, feeling pinned to the spot. He mustered a grin. “World’s biggest friction shock, or…?”

“I believe, as you say,” Spock sounded velvety and fucked-out and it shot straight to Jim’s dick. “You are existing too loudly again.”

“Sorry,” Jim said, sounding about as unapologetic as he was. He squeezed Spock’s arms firmly before he slid his hands down to cuff Spock’s wrists, then away. “I’ll have to work on that,” he murmured, openly staring at Spock’s mouth.

“I find it difficult to believe you.”

Jim blinked and laughed brightly, the edge of his tension dispersing, but his nerves still singing. “How d’you know me so well after such a short time?”

“I do not believe I do,” Spock said, and abruptly turned back to his baking. “Would you like to help me making the frosting?”

“Hell yeah.” Jim clapped his hands together. “What do you need?”

Spock flicked an unreadable look Jim’s way. He was all smooth, quiet confidence again as he relayed the ingredients Jim should gather. As Jim mixed the glistening, gloopy mess of sugar in a bowl, he wondered how long he and Spock had been speaking in code with each other.

Well, who was he kidding? Since the beginning.

Spock had – _has_ – a lot of secrets. A lot of things he couldn’t let slide in Jim’s presence. The only reason Jim even got a big reveal out of Spock was because he’d cornered him with logic and then pissed him off.

Getting anything out of Spock was like working with a steel trap.

Yeah, he’d definitely loosened up in the past weeks – and he rarely even freaked out when Jim touched him. Well, since Halloween Spock seemed actually receptive to Jim’s advances. Or was it less _receptive_ and more _allowing_?

Did Spock think that if he allowed Jim to be physically intimate with him that the questions would stop? That Jim would be so distracted with sex, that he would forget how Spock and his buddies were essentially trying to brainwash the geniuses of the world?

Because if Jim were Spock, he would totally resort to that level of diversion.

Fuck, Jim was going in circles. He didn’t know his ass from his head any longer – although some might claim that was the norm.

“Try this,” Jim said, as Spock slipped the cut rolls into the oven and set the timer.

Spock turned and nearly went cross-eyed as he looked at the frosting-coated finger Jim held to his lips. He cleared his throat quietly, his dark gaze snapping to Jim, who was nearly vibrating with anticipation.

Jim knew his smirk held a dare. And as far as Jim knew, Spock didn’t react well to being challenged. He always rose up to –

Spock’s tongue was an entrancing flash of emerald before the flat of it pressed against the pad of Jim’s finger. Those pretty heart-shaped lips closed over the icing, down to Jim’s first knuckle. Jim’s breath caught in his throat, his muscles going stiff and lax as Spock sucked off Jim’s finger with an obscenely wet pop.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jim said on a shuddering breath as he already began undressing Spock with his eyes. “Oh God okay, yeah I can work with that.”

Jim crashed through the space between them, cupping Spock’s jaw and pulling him in.

It wasn’t until now – until Spock nudged at Jim’s lips with his own, licking tentatively into his mouth with curious curls of tongue and tentative tastes – that Jim realised how badly he desired this connection. How his bone-deep need for Spock – his mind, his body, his humour, his hands – drove Jim to do and say anything that would fuse them further together.

It was stupid, so monumentally ridiculous that Jim should want _this_ of all things. This web of complication which would cling to him, tangle him up, and leave him stuck and helpless with every single step. He was willing giving himself over to this man – fucking _alien_ – knowing full well that this couldn’t really be anything in the long run.

Maybe that was why Jim was going for it with such force. He could put everything into this because he _knew_ it would eventually end. He could attach himself because he knew he wouldn’t be attached forever, and in time their relationship would bite the big one.

Maybe that wasn’t it at all. Maybe Jim just didn’t want to admit that he was throwing himself at the only person who ever really mattered _because he really fucking mattered_. In every way.

“Come here,” Jim murmured against Spock’s mouth as he tucked into the band of Spock’s arms.

A little noise of pleasure tumbled from Spock’s tongue as he sunk further into the kiss, his lips becoming more avid and electric with each subtle change of angle.

Then as abrupt as a crack of lightning, nothing was enough. The idle roll of tongues and hips was too much of a tease, and Jim felt close to bursting already. There was something in the way Spock mapped Jim’s hips and ass and spine with wide palms and long fingers that set him on fire, made him burn from the inside out with every touch.

Weeks – _weeks_ Jim had been starved for this. Craving the build-up, the feast, the gluttony of claiming Spock as his and no one else’s. No one on this planet or the next or _wherever_ – Jim was _it_. Jim was doing pretty damn well to convince Spock of this fact too, if he could go by the way Spock’s eyes went hazy and black as he parted wet, swollen lips.

“ _Spock_.” Jim slung his arms around Spock’s neck and buried one hand in his silky hair. He held Spock close, with their noses nearly brushing and their slick, panting mouths mingling hot, thick breaths as they swayed against each other. “Tell me what you want.”

Spock’s eyes widened for an instant, followed by two quick blinks and a startled look that was out of place with the hands that were already sliding Jim’s sweatpants down over his hips.

“I want.”

“What?”

“I _want_ ,” was all Spock said, his voice splintering before his mouth descended upon Jim’s.

They wrestled while standing, with Jim’s sweatpants pooled and forgotten on the floor. His tee was shucked and Spock’s flannel shirt – _Jim’s_ shirt that he borrowed and God, that never stopped being hot – was nearly buttonless by the time Jim ripped it off.

Of course Jim had to get hit in the eye with a flying button. But even as he was snorting a laugh, Spock was shoving him against the counter and caging him between strong, pale arms. Their lips warred and smashed, more restless and desperate than ever before as Jim whipped off Spock’s belt and worked at his button and fly with quivering fingers.

Spock rained kisses upon Jim’s shoulders, the heat of his lips and skin and breath more welcome than anything Jim could think of. Not that he could think of much right now, but Spock treating him like a fucking work of art had to be extremely high on the list.

Jim felt desired in a way he couldn’t remember experiencing before. The assurance in Spock’s touch, the certainty in his eyes, and the promise of his mouth left no room for doubt. Spock _wanted_ , and he wanted Jim.

Remaining clothes were shed in the fray of grappling hands and insistent fingers and hitches of breath with each article strewn across the floor. Jim couldn’t release Spock – not with his mouth, which clung to Spock’s in an onslaught of tongue and teeth. Not with his legs, which wrapped around Spock’s waist as Jim was promptly lifted like a feather and planted on the cold countertop.

The temperature change left a delicious shock to his system that jolted up his spine, wringing a moan from Jim’s lips as he jutted his hips forward. He needed more – so much more than this. He needed to feel Spock’s want hard and thick against his thigh. He needed to wake up in the morning with an ache that reminded him that he finally fit with someone, for real.

With the first firm drag and slip of their cocks together, Spock’s breath shuddered and he whispered Jim’s name, low and deep – and it punched straight through Jim’s chest.

Tension coiled around the rampant pulse thumping against his ribs, his limbs starting to slide and lose their grip on Spock as he began to overheat and shine with sweat. Jim knew his face must be red as a tomato, but Spock’s cock was _green_ – full-on Emerald City green – so there were other things on his mind other than looking like he’d run a marathon.

 _This is really happening_ , was all Jim could think on a fervid loop as he effectively trapped Spock in his tangle of limbs and surged forward for another kiss of searing, liquid heat. Spock’s didn’t moan, but his breath caught with silent surprise when Jim slid his foot down the curve of Spock’s ass. _This is really happening_.

“Am I goin’ too fast?” Jim gasped against Spock’s mouth as he dove his hands into Spock’s hair to keep him close, breathing the same air, unable to let go for even a second. “’Cause I can maybe slow down – but only if you’re not naked and I’m not naked and you’re across the galaxy from me.”

“Silence,” Spock murmured, but it was too soft to sound like he really meant it. His hand wedged between their mindlessly rolling hips to circle a thumb over the crown of Jim’s dick, and urgency began to build like a ticking time-bomb. Jim cried out against the pale sweep of Spock’s shoulder, the sound drawing out a ragged noise he didn’t know he could make when Spock experimentally flicked the taut skin beneath the head.

Spock dipped his tongue along the junction of jaw and neck, fucking _tasting_ Jim as he encased Jim’s cock in a tight, insistent grip.

“ _Fuck_ , lube!” Jim gasped as Spock trailed wet, messy kisses along the ridge of his collarbone, with his free hand moving to grip Jim’s ass. “It’s upstairs. Fuck – oh god, you’re biting me, I can’t – Jesus, we need lube.”

Spock nipped at Jim’s ear, one hand coming around to jack Jim’s cock with apparent urgency in each flick of wrist. “ _Not_ letting you go.”

“Shit, Spock – don’t say that.” A thrill snaked up Jim’s spine as he whimpered and looked desperately across the kitchen for a suitable substitute. “Oh, fuck it.”

Jim grabbed the remaining hunk of butter from its tray and smushed it into Spock’s hand. This was probably one of his worst ideas on the list of Worst Ideas by Jim Kirk, and _that_ was saying something.

“Dude Vulcans fuck other dude Vulcans, don’t they? Please don’t tell me I’ll have to give you lessons right now because I’m going fucking insane for your cock inside me and this might just end up as – _mpff_.”

Spock captured Jim’s lips, muttering against his mouth, “You say too much,” as he pumped his slicked fist down Jim’s cock.

Before Jim could muster some kind of reaction aside from total brain failure, Spock’s fingers were sliding from his dick to his ass with a bit too much enthusiasm – and, quite literally, began to butter him up.

Jim laughed out loud at the thought, but it was strangled by a long, vocal moan as Spock slipped in a second finger too soon and began to work him open.

“ _Fuck_ Spock, where did y– _ah_! Right there – thank you, thank you God, thank you Academy _nnggh_.” Jim panted against the sweltering curve of Spock’s neck and rocked helplessly against those clever fingers. “Where the _hell_ did you learn this?”

“The Internet.”

The image of Spock watching gay porn as if he’d _expected_ to fuck Jim shouldn’t have been as hot as it was. But Jim threw his head back, smacked it against a cupboard, and hiked his leg up and over Spock’s hunched shoulder – praise the god of your choice for martial arts flexibility. Jim would thank his teacher for it, but the guy was like eighty and probably wouldn’t have appreciated the gesture.

Jim laughed breathlessly again, shut his eyes, and revelled in the play of shifting, bunched muscle beneath his palms. Spock was riding him high with fingers and mouth alone, all uncharacteristic urgency and humid heat coming off him in waves. Everything was amazing and agonising and not nearly enough at the same time. Soon Jim was writhing against the countertop, bucking against Spock’s hand and whimpering like an animal in heat.

“Sh-shoulda known you’d be a fast learner,” Jim choked out as his fingertips scrabbled for purchase on Spock’s shoulders, with his nails bruising and biting into Spock’s back. Despite the body draped across Jim and one of Spock’s arms securing him to the counter, Jim was beginning to slide off with each uncontrollable tremor and shake.

 _Floor_.

Before Jim could muster the word, Spock was scooping him up and laying him upon the cold tile. Jim yelped and giggled at the freezing zing that assaulted his back, and was going to say something no doubt very clever and annoying –

When Spock gripped Jim’s ankle, pressed his knee up between their chests, and bumped against Jim’s hole with the head of his cock. Every coherent thought shattered, and the ability to speak was swallowed.

Except that it wasn’t.

“Condom!” Jim yelped, shattering the hot and heavy silence. “I don’t want ASTDs!”

Spock swallowed hard and went utterly still, his dick still pressed hot and throbbing against Jim’s ass.“ASTDs?”

“Alien Sexually Transmitted Diseases,” Jim said in a rush, even as he mindlessly arched his hips to start rutting against Spock’s leaking cock.

“I –” Spock blinked once, hard, clearly trying to regulate his thoughts while Jim mindlessly rolled against him. “ _Wait_ ,” he growled – and before Jim could even ask, Spock was tilting and slapping his hand on his jeans. He rummaged through his pocket and – _bam_. Condom.

Jim gaped. “Planning on gettin’ laid, Casanova?”

“The Internet said –“

That was enough. Jim snatched the package from Spock’s hand and did the honours with about as much grace as a teenager on prom night. But it was worth it to hear the fucked-out moan that rumbled in Spock’s throat as Jim slicked on the condom with an extra lingering squeeze and pump of his fist.

Their gazes clashed and locked, with Spock’s eyes wide open and eclipsed to black, his lips swollen and bruised. Jim panted softly, his breath coming in shudders as Spock’s lithe body leaned over him and pressed in slowly, rocking into him with careful precision.

Pierced beneath Spock’s stare Jim felt torn in half, throbbing and aching from the force of each hot, pulsing inch that stretched Jim open and pushed him further to the wrecking point. Spock looked at him like he was the only thing in the universe – like this was something special to be savoured. Like _Jim_ was special, and not in the way other people referred to him.

Then Spock’s hips snapped forward in an abrupt thrust that had Jim whimpering and scrabbling to grip Spock’s biceps for a hold.

“Is that –” Doubt flashed in Spock’s eyes for a moment as he stilled.

“ _What_ – yes, God _yes_ it’s amazing, you’re amazing – why have we not done this before, go go _go_ ,” Jim babbled as he decidedly shut _himself_ up by surging forward to capture Spock’s bottom lip with his teeth.

Spock groaned – full out made the most human, guttural noise Jim had ever heard from him – and thrust forward, long and deep. The pace he set was immediate and devastatingly even in its rhythm. Jim was wound tighter with each slick slap of balls to ass, and felt coiled to the point of fracturing.

Jim was lost in the warmth of Spock; the dig of Spock’s fingers into his thighs as he lifted and folded him further. Lost in the soft puffs of breath against his neck and the low hum that mounted to a growl when Spock’s speed faltered and increased with burning, utterly destroying urgency.

Spock thrust harder, and Jim rose to meet him because Spock owned him now, could bend him and use him as he desired. The world closed in until it was only Jim and Spock, and the maddening pound of Jim being fucked and filled and falling off the edge. This was too much – too hot, too full, too –

Spock pushed in once, hard, scraping over that bundle of quivering nerves deep inside, and Jim simply fell apart. Broke in Spock’s arms as a languid ripple of heat burnt a path through Jim’s limbs, bursting at his core and branding straight through his heart. Spock sped up, his lips mouthing words that wouldn’t come as he pumped deeper and faster, working Jim through his incineration until Spock choked on Jim’s name.

Spock’s hips stuttered, his eyes going huge and hazy and blind. He curled towards Jim and buried his face against Jim’s neck to breathe him in. With Jim’s last ounce of strength, he bucked into Spock’s orgasm, revelling in the feel of Spock’s release flooding him with warmth and the distinct feel that he was profoundly _wanted_.

Jim finally allowed himself to close his eyes – he’d been previously unable to look away from the glory that was a debauched Spock – and breathe as a very heavy Vulcan collapsed on top of him like a dead man.

Of course, dead men didn’t nuzzle your throat like an animal in desperate need of love – well, unless it was a zombie. An undead man. Then they wouldn’t be nuzzling, but chewing on your arteries and shit.

Would that be necrophilia or –

“Jim.”

“ _Hmm_?”

“If you would cease thinking such macabre thoughts after…” Spock cleared his throat, as if he were embarrassed that he’d effectively ravished Jim on the kitchen floor. He was actually trying to act as if his cum – and butter, oh god _what_ had Jim been thinking? – wasn’t dripping out of Jim’s ass.

Jim blinked at the ceiling. Sometimes he forgot about Spock’s whole Professor Xavier deal. Maybe he purposely let it slip his mind so the sheer strangeness of it didn’t affect him. Either way, if Spock could gather what Jim was thinking right now, perhaps that meant he knew what Jim was thinking when his thoughts travelled to more, uh... amorous emotions.

“So that thing where you kinda feel my moods – what is that, exactly? Obviously it’s linked to your mind-raping abilities. But how, um – how much do you actually, like... get?”

“A considerable amount,” came the reply, as if Spock had eventually expected the question and had already discerned an appropriately vague answer.

“What constitutes as a considerable amount?” Jim pressed as he pushed Spock off of him without fanfare. He rolled and propped elbows up on the tile, and plopped his cheek upon his palm.

Spock’s eyebrows twitched in a faint grimace as he sat up and reached for a hand-towel hanging off the oven door. He began to wipe himself in easy, clinical movements as if he were totally comfortable with his nudity. If he was, then double points for Spock.

“The situation is dependent upon the person.”

“Don’t bullshit the bullshitter,” Jim said with what he hoped was a charming smile. “I mean, what’s it like in your head when you’re with m– people? I mean, are you actually an _empath_ or a telepath? Oh come on – don’t look surprised that I know the difference. Shit like that is kinda important in the world of X-Men, okay? There is a _big_ difference between the two.”

Spock’s brow remained furrowed as he dropped his gaze from Jim’s face. “I have previously stated that I am telepathic, although there are times in which I believe I may have latent empathic abilities. I find myself reflecting your more overt emotions when you are extremely happy or amused or upset. I surmise that the stronger the personality, the more susceptible I am to their emotions.”

Jim ignored the giddy little flip in his stomach and resisted the urge to roll around the floor in glee. Instead he nodded soberly.

“So you read my thoughts. I mean, I know you’ve said something to that affect before, but I just wanted the full spiel.”

Spock met Jim’s gaze levelly, and it was a wonder that he could look haughty and tall while sitting naked on the kitchen floor, no doubt freezing his beautiful ass off.

“I... unintentionally read certain thoughts.”

Jim swallowed and forced himself to breathe easy. “But you _do_ read them. Not just feel them, like actually told me before.”

Spock’s eyes flashed with something – panic, annoyance? – before he leaned forward and lifted his hand to Jim’s face, murmuring, “Jim, I –”

“O- _kay_ , just _no_ ,” Nyota’s horrified voice came out of _fucking nowhere_. “Nonono _no_ – I’m turning around and looking away, looking away forever. Christ Jim, just when I thought I’d burned out the image of your naked ass I have to be subjected to it all over again.”

Jim may or may not have squealed like a girl being sprayed with a hose as he scrambled for sweats to bunch over his crotch. “ _Fuck_ me gently, have you _heard_ of knocking, woman?”

“I’m _sorry_ , but it’s not as if you get laid in the kitchen on a daily basis!”

Spock was already jumping to attention and diving for his black jeans in the most disgustingly graceful display of speed Jim had ever seen. Jim was busy standing and awkwardly wiggling into his bottoms as Nyota mutely thumped her forehead on the wall like she was trying to knock the image out of her skull.

Well it was her fault for barging in the backdoor... with the key that Jim had given her like seven years ago. _Um_.

“And it’s not as if you get laid on a _daily_ ba-” Nyota paused, and abruptly looked over her shoulder to blink owlishly at the half-naked Spock.

“ _Dude_.” Jim was still tugging on his shirt as he hopped in front of Spock, whose face was going – green, fuck, _green_ – with embarrassment as he struggled to button a shirt which had very few buttons. “Stop checking out my boy– er, Spock. What kinda faghag _are_ you?”

But _oh_ , this was all unfolding like some horribly contrived slow-motion scene. Nyota turning, her eyes going wide as an anime character’s as her gaze raced over Spock’s flushed chest and cheeks and – good, great, the tips of his ears peeked out from ruffled hair as well.

 _Well_.

The kitchen timer chirped a happy little _ding_!

Jim looked around and cleared his throat. “So um, who wants cinnamon rolls?”

“You’re green.” Nyota said to Spock. She looked to Jim. “He’s green.”

“Yeah, well, we figured out I wasn’t colour-blind and just fashion-challenged when I was like seventeen.”

Nyota pointed at Spock. “You will continue to remain silent and _you_ ,” her voice dropped an octave as she glared daggers at Jim. “Are coming with me. Also silently.”

Jim bristled at being told what to do, even by his best friend, but he knew he was backed up against a corner here. He didn’t want to ask for help, but – well. Jim sent a plaintive look over his shoulder to indicate _what the fuck do I do_ at Spock.

“Please,” Spock said with a firm tone. “I suggest you speak with me rather than Jim. I believe you comprehend as well as I that he will only complicate matters. He possesses a remarkable affinity for chaos."

“Hey, thanks.” Jim smiled happily to himself – and immediately sobered up as he caught Nyota’s Medusa stare. “I mean, yeah – he’s probably right.” Jim jerked his thumb in the direction of Spock and offered Nyota a contrite smile. “He knows more about being an alien than I do, after all.”

Nyota laughed in clear disbelief, her smile close-mouthed and sharp as she eyed them both. “Sure, okay Jim. And I have a tiny robot operating within my skull.”

“That would explain the freakish intelligence and – nevermind.” Jim felt sandwiched between two glowers, and it was pretty unpleasant. “Let’s just sit – or, you two sit and I’ll stop the rolls from burning.”

“Thinking about food at a time like this?” Nyota asked as he skirted the room, keeping a wide berth from Spock as she warily sat at the table. It was clear that she was trying to keep her composure – and doing a better job of it than anyone else Jim could imagine. Aside from himself, of course.

Nyota had always been the strong one between the two of them, and she handled the unexpected very well. Her ability to take life’s obstacles and surprises in stride – and look amazing while doing so – had always been something Jim admired.

Jim took what life threw at him, but then he gagged it and buried it alive in an unmarked grave. Nyota broke apart her difficulties into manageable pieces and puzzled them back together to suit her needs. Sometimes she even helped Jim do the same – if he let her. Jim wasn’t exactly known for accepting help or advice. Not when he was right so very, _very_ often.

“Well I’ve worked up one hell of an app-” Jim caught Spock’s pointed glare, which was about an equal calibre of terrifying as Nyota’s. “-reciation for well-made food, and I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Nyota didn’t even sigh in frustration, which was a bad sign. She sat ramrod straight in her seat and folded her arms across her chest. Spock had taken a chair across the table, and regarded her with what might have been a similar expression to that time Jim had held a shotgun to his face.

Apparently Jim wasn’t the only one trying to calculate the best tactical retreat.

He turned his back to them and busied himself with removing the rolls from the oven. Christ, he wanted a shower. There was butter in _all_ of the wrong places and there was _zero_ sexy things about that. And Spock really needed to wash his hands – or at least not touch anyone in any way. That was probably easy, considering Spock. Honestly, as amazing as gay sex was, it was so goddamn mess–

“You’re going to answer all of questions without any fanfare,” Nyota said from the table, her voice like steel. “If you lie to me, _I will know_. I read body language for a living.”

“Pike shoulda hired _her_ ,” Jim said under his breath.

Nyota barrelled on with, “Who are you really and what are you doing here?” And it wasn’t that Jim was _scared_ to turn around, per se – it was just that he also needed to rush, uh, to the bathroom and shower before he could look his best friend in the eyes again.

Jim escaped the room to the sound of Spock’s equally uncompromising tone saying, “Let it be known that should you betray this trust, I can and will wipe your memory.”

Jim snorted at the corny line just as Nyota burst into an incredulous laugh. Yeah, that was why they were friends. No matter how serious Nyota pretended to be, she still appreciated the ridiculous things in life.

Hurrying up the stairs, Jim stripped off and jumped in the shower before the water had even heated.

Christ, Jim hadn’t even considered swearing Nyota to secrecy. It hadn’t crossed his mind to see her as anything other than trustworthy. Sure, a kind of sickening terror had gripped Jim upon his initial realisation that the jig was up, but he hadn’t liked lying to his best friend. Jim felt kind of slimy doing it and now – should Spock deem her worthy – Jim would at least have someone whom with he could speak candidly.

Or Jim could walk into the kitchen to find Nyota’s memories completely blitzed.

Jim swallowed down a knot of panic and bolted out of the bathroom like the Flash, only with less spandex. Not that he wouldn’t look good in spandex, by the way. But he yanked on a pair of ripped jeans without considering underwear, and clattered down the stairs as he tugged on an awful t-shirt with a painted wolf on it that Gaila had bought at Wisconsin Dells as a joke.

Nyota’s voice carried clear and concise as a Vulcan’s before Jim even got to the kitchen.

“Let’s pretend for a moment that I believe you so far. That you’re an... extraterrestrial.”

The fact that Nyota could say that with a straight face when she was clearly incredulous made Jim smile as he padded into the room. Of course, both Spock and Nyota flashed mirror looks of disapproval when they noted Jim’s pleased expression.

God, he was friends with such Debbie Downers. Too bad he liked them so damn much.

Nyota laced her fingers atop the table and leaned in, her eyes sharp.

“If I were to believe that and the story of how you crashed here –”

“There’s a big-ass scorch mark in my field if you wanna –”

“ _Kirk_.”

Jim smiled shamelessly. It was so nice to have friends all together like this.

Nyota’s lips quirked, but her mouth flattened the minute she looked back to the expressionless Spock. “As I was saying – what’s your purpose here?”

“Ha!” Jim approached the kitchen table, spun a chair around and straddled it. “Good luck with that one. I’ve been tryin’ to pry it outta him for weeks now.”

Jim blinked at the twin withering stares. “What?”

“Kirk, can I speak to you alone for a moment?”

Jim hated that he actually looked to Spock before answering. It wasn’t like he needed _permission_ or anything, but he’d looked all the same. Looked at Spock like he couldn’t stop.

 _Dammit Jim, get a grip_.

Jim considered telling Nyota that it probably didn’t matter where they went in the house, that Spock would be able to hear them if he wanted. But that wouldn’t be much help – and as far as Jim knew Spock wasn’t the type to eavesdrop, so Jim kept his mouth shut for once.

Instead he nodded with his best solemn expression and led the way to his office.

As he stepped inside and looked over the clutter that was gathering a layer of dust from disuse, Jim remembered Spock’s words from weeks and weeks ago.

 _Yes, I carry the knowledge to solve your conundrum._

 _Are you not interested in hearing my solution to your problem?_

Spock had the answers Jim searched for. He had the solution to making the world a better place – a cleaner, more efficient planet. He hadn’t necessarily made a direct offer of information, but the idea had been planted in Jim’s thoughts nonetheless.

If Jim asked, it was possible...

No, Jim was better than that. He might not have a load of fancy degrees to prove it, but Jim had never been one for proving shit to anyone other than himself. He had his intelligence, his obnoxious tenacity and a frighteningly innovative Scotsman on his side. Jim didn’t need help when he could manage on his own. He’d been independent for a long time now, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

He was pretty badass like that.

Thing was, since Spock had arrived Jim’s work had taken a backseat. A new passion had taken up the time of his old one, and that kind of irked him. Jim probably had hundreds of emails by now, and Scotty likely thought him dead in an explosion with some shrapnel lodged in his face.

Jim knew he needed to get back to the office again. Needed it in order to stay sane and centred rather than for any intellectual purpose. But Spock was... he was leaving soon, and so Jim could wait a little longer. He’d need something to keep him busy later, anyway.

Mentally shaking himself from the emo mood, Jim refocused his attention on Nyota as she shut the door behind them.

“So okay, this has probably been a lot to take in, but –”

“Is this some kind of joke, Kirk?” Nyota’s mouth thinned as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Just tell me that first. I know you’ve dedicated yourself to some lengthy pranks in your time –”

“ _Hey_ ,” Jim snapped, his muscles tensing for a fight. God, he was raring for one. “You think this is a joke? He’s _green_ , Nyota. You saw his ears – he’s a fuckin’ elf! You really think that I’d make that shit up – that I’m not taking this seriously?”

“You don’t take anything seriously, Kirk.”

Jim inclined his chin and stared her down. She stared back evenly.

Nyota sighed. “Okay, _fine_. That was uncalled for. I know you take a lot more to heart than you ever let on, but –” She motioned expressively towards the door, and it was a wonder she didn’t just z-snap right then and there. “ _Him_? Out of everyone you could have screwed around with, you chose a supposed _alien_? I mean, what were you _thinking_?”

“I wasn’t, I –”

“That tends to be a common trend with you.”

Jim was developing a twitch in his jaw. “You don’t think I’m lost in this fucking Labyrinth of Space Insanity too? I’ve been launched into a sci-fi movie, and it is _so_ not as awesome as I expected.”

“Well you’re _screwing_ another life form, so you don’t seem too broken up about it.”

“You have _no_ idea what I – nevermind.” Jim fumed and threw his hands up in a futile gesture. He didn’t need to explain himself to anyone, and he wasn’t going to. It wasn’t like she’d get it anyway, not when Jim hardly understood it all himself. “Look –”

“No, _you_ look. You’re not going all boss-man on me, Kirk. Everyone else lets you get away with that, but not me.”

Jim went stubbornly silent. It was a very rare occurrence – like seeing snow leopards mate in the wild or something – but it _did_ happen on occasion. Mostly with Nyota, because she was scary.

Just like that, Nyota’s shoulders slumped and her gaze softened.

“I’m concerned. Let me be concerned. This? This is a mess the likes of which I’ve never seen from you before, and that’s saying something. But if... if Spock is what he says he is, and I choose to believe that until further evidence arises, then I want to be here for you. I’m – I’m not sure what I can do, but I can’t stay quiet on this, and I’m not going to let you deal on your own.” Nyota smiled tentatively. “Whenever you handle problems alone, explosions and nudity tend to ensue.”

Jim grinned, alleviation lightening his bones. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Nyota rolled her eyes, but her smile remained. She approached him and loosely linked her arms around his waist, and settled her forehead upon his shoulder. “I’m worried about you, Kirk. This... this isn’t normal. Even for _you_. This isn’t something that you should have to deal with. I don’t even know how you managed to keep this a secret for so long.”

Jim hummed under his breath and nuzzled his cheek against her long, soft hair. He firmly returned the lingering hug, allowing them to sway for a moment as he remembered that, yeah, he could do shit on his own – but it was nice when someone had your back. Jim forgot that a lot.

He shifted and angled his chin towards Nyota as he murmured against the comfort of hair. “I’m scared this is all gonna fall apart, ‘Yota. I feel like I’m playing Jenga while drunk.” That was the only verbalised admission of doubt he’d ever give himself.

Nyota was quiet for a long while before she said, “I think it will.”

Jim hated knowing she was probably right.

“Since we’re going the whole boyfriend talk – what’s the deal with you and my other best friend? Do I hear wedding bells in the distance? Or is that the sound of Bones screaming and running away when he finds the collection of pristine, dead-eyed Barbies in your closet?”

Nyota pulled away with a perplexed smile. “You think Spock is your boyfriend?”

Jim’s eyes popped wide as his heart began to thump in his ears like a klaxon on red alert.

“Uh –”

“Aside from that being completely messed up on several levels, does _he_ know?”

“Know what? That I’m fucked up on several levels? Yeah, I think he probably gathered that around the first day when I welcomed an alien into my house.”

Jim needed to make a very hasty and tactical retreat like five minutes ago.

Nyota was apparently not to be deterred, though, and her stupid smile was spreading. “Does he know that you think he’s your boyfriend? I know you’re kind of relationship deaf, dumb, and blind, but that kind of thing is usually a two-way street.”

Oh, Nyota was amused as all fuck by this. She laughed and placed her palms on Jim’s burning cheeks. “Speechless _and_ blushing? Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re in –”

“Stop,” Jim choked out.

Nyota paused and blinked, her eyes abruptly going misty.

“ _Oh_ ,” she whispered. “Oh you absolute _idiot_ ,” she said as she pulled Jim in close and clung to him.

Jim scowled past her head at the far wall, but he couldn’t deny that something in his chest loosened, just a little.

Nyota said against his neck, “For someone who acts so uncomplicated, you really _do_ have a propensity for chaos.”

Jim had to laugh, because if he didn’t he’d probably go insane and start wearing shoes on his head or something. Although that would be an interesting way to keep people at arm’s length so that he didn’t, you know, _fall in stupid ridiculous craptastic love with them_.

Once he managed to stop Nyota from clutching at him like a baby koala, Jim jerked his head toward the door and Nyota followed in silent agreement.

Jim had to break into a smile when he entered the kitchen. Cinnamon rolls dripping with glistening white frosting sat on the counter, the dishes were washed, and Spock was sitting at the table, straight as a plank with a bit of strain around the eyes. Gumby’s head was resting on Spock’s thigh as he was mechanically scratched behind the ears.

The poor guy was nervous – and Jim totally got some perverse pleasure out of the knowledge.

Then again, he also kind of wanted to scoop Spock in his arms and cuddle him like a panda or a puppy or something. And now Jim was thankful that he was out of mind-reading reach lest Spock realise how legitimately crazy Jim actually was.

Also – a _panda_? Really?

Jim knew what brand of crazy this was – he’d read about it in _New Scientist_ magazine this one time. Jim was just high on oxytocin, the body’s own love potion. It was making him think all kinds of crazily inappropriate things now that he’d seen Spock naked.

Or maybe that was just him being a guy. He wasn’t sure. Sometimes what was normal for him was highly unusual for others.

Jim cleared his throat as he wiped his mind of naked Vulcans and pandas.

“So, I think it’s safe to say you won’t have to mind-molest my best friend today.”

Spock blinked, his shoulders shifting in the slightest show of relief.

Nyota laughed softly and swept past him, “I’m not going to ask what that means right now. I think I know more than I ever wanted to at this point.” She aimed a pointed look at Spock as she sat beside him. “But don’t think I’ve let this drop. You and Kirk? That’s sticky business – and _Jim_ don’t you _dare_ make a sick joke while I’m in the middle of a serious discussion.”

Jim held his hands up with an exaggerated expression of innocence. “Would I ever?”

Nyota ignored him, as very few people could. She cocked her head at Spock in an almost Vulcan expression. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

Jim’s smile faded as Spock abruptly stiffened, his expression going statue-still.

“You are not in any position to make such an inaccurate conclusion.”

“And you’re screwing Jim _why_?” Nyota replied in quick-fire.

Jim would have choked on his own saliva had his mouth not gone completely dry. He actually wanted to know the answer to this one.

Spock’s eyes flashed to Jim and then fixed on Nyota. “The subject of our relationship is not your concern.”

“He’s my friend,” Nyota shot back. “As much as I hate to say this while he’s actually in the room, he’s like a brother to me. So you mess with _him_ then you mess with _me_. Is that clear?”

Spock’s unblinking gaze narrowed. “He is my friend as well. So under that line of logic, may I question _you_?”

Jim very definitely squeaked with glee.

Both Spock and Nyota shifted to stare at him with equal looks of bemusement. God, if only they saw how similar they were. Of course Jim would never actually _say_ that because he enjoyed keeping his balls.

Jim cleared his throat. “Um. Keep goin’ at it guys. I feel like we have a lot of unresolved sexual tension in the room, and this could turn into a threes–”

“ _Jim_.”

“ _Kirk_.”

“All right, all right, jeez! How about we just drop this for a while and like, take a break – eat? Eating would be good.”

Why Jim was diverting the conversation away from the one answer he wanted from Spock, he didn’t know. Maybe he was a sick, masochistic bastard. Maybe he just didn’t want to be disappointed.

Or maybe he was just fucking hungry. Mind-blowing sex could do that to a person – and Jim couldn’t even remember the last time he had five star sex. Not that he rated it or anything.

Nyota shook her head and scraped her chair back as she stood. “No thanks, Kirk. I think… ” she trailed off, her eyes flicking from Jim to Spock and back. “I think I need some time to process this. I’m sure it wasn’t difficult for you to grasp, but most people tend to live in reality, and so this is a bit harder to swallow for me.”

Jim’s lips quirked as he slung his arm over Nyota’s thin shoulders and ushered her towards the front door. “Understandable. Not everyone can be as awesome as me.”

Nyota just heaved a sigh and tried not to look amused. Though, when they reached the foyer her expression sobered.

She leaned in, her voice hushed. “Be careful. Don’t forget what Spock is.”

Jim’s frowned sharply, his hackles rising. “What –”

“I don’t mean he’s a bad... creature. Person. Whatever. Just don’t forget that he’s _not_ human and he did _not_ come here for the sole purpose of playing house with you. _Jim_.”

Nyota’s eyes were imploring, her tone urgent and sincere. “I like Spock – I liked him from the first time I met him. But the situation wasn’t what I’d previously assumed. For once it’s imperative that you stay grounded in this. Because I’m going to take a wild guess and say that Spock knows about a million other things that he’s not telling you.”

“All of that isn’t _really_ my business,” Jim said, refusing to shuffle his feet. “It’s not like I own him or anything.”

Nyota cocked her head, a soft smile playing on her lips. “You are so far gone.”

Before Jim could ask how the hell she knew something like that, Nyota pressed a dry kiss to his cheek and let herself out with a half wave. The door was shut in his face, and a cold draft seeped into his skin before Jim could even react.

Jim shivered and rubbed his hands roughly over his forearms. Well, this was all kinds of epically fucked up. But what was done was done, and Jim no longer had any control over what was going on. Not that he ever had much in the first place, but up until a couple of hours ago Jim had felt kind of special in carrying an important secret that no one else had known about. Sure, Nyota tended to be a part of his circle of trust, but this – This Thing with Spock had given Jim direction.

Or perhaps he was simply growing more lost by the day. He certainly felt that way every time he really _looked_ at Spock. Both lost and at home at the same time. Both gravitated towards him and thrown off balance.

God, Jim was an awkward motherfucker.

He turned to head back into the kitchen and abruptly bumped into Spock’s chest. Firm, warm hands slid up to grip his elbows, but released him immediately. Jim peered up with a quizzical smile, the sudden silence between them pounding in his ears like a heartbeat.

Spock met his gaze, his own expression stoic and serene as it ever was – but for the eyes. They were skipping over Jim’s every feature, touching him everywhere that Spock’s hands were not. He looked like he badly wanted to say something, but didn’t know where to start.

It used to be that Spock didn’t look like he wanted to talk at all. Then as he became more comfortable around Jim he began to speak in an offhand manner that was so completely Spock.

And then there were times when it was clear Spock wanted to express something more imperative than the idle comment. It was then that he carried this expression – complete stillness and begging eyes. He probably didn’t even know he was doing it.

Jim grinned and lightly punched Spock’s shoulder. “So we’re friends, huh? Like, in the Sam and Frodo way, or...?”

That little comma-shaped wrinkle dented the space between Spock’s eyebrows. “In as much as I can be anyone’s friend.”

“Jesus, could you sound any more foreboding?”

“From what you have insinuated on previous occasions, yes.”

Jim leaned in and kissed Spock.

Mostly because the urge had struck Jim so suddenly, that he’d been unable to do anything other than exactly what he wanted.

There were no hands or limbs or even tongue involved. Jim simply closed his eyes and captured that frowning mouth with his own. Lingered at the sweet swell of that Cupid’s bow lip, and quietly breathed in the cinnamon scent of Spock.

A sigh passed between their lips, a shared release of mounting tension as they parted easily.

Jim stared up at Spock, feeling rawer and more exposed than any wild fuck on the kitchen floor could ever accomplish. His body was one giant pulse, his mouth gone dry as Jim fought to keep the uncharacteristic nerves from shining in his eyes.

He never kissed anyone like that. Not since he was like ten and innocent, anyway. This wasn’t... _nothing_ about this was normal. Whatever the hell _normal_ meant these days, anyway. Han Solo could show up on his doorstep at this point and Jim would be less than impressed.

“Sorry,” Jim whispered.

For the first time since they’d crashed into each other’s lives, Jim actually meant it.

“As am I,” Spock said after a time.

Jim shook off his mood and laughed.

“Okay man, now you’re getting legit creepy. Let’s eat – I’m fucking starved.”

“When is it that you are not on the brink of apparent starvation?” Spock asked as they meandered towards the kitchen.

“I think I actually have a tapeworm. We should Google it.”

“You do not have a tapeworm, Jim.”

“You don’t know. If I _did_ then you could call me Tapeworm Jim. Like Earthworm Jim, that old cart – nevermind.”

“Get in the kitchen, Jim.”

“I’m going, I’m going!”


	11. Chapter 11

Jim did not wake up in the morning feeling like P. Diddy. In fact, upon popping one eye open, he got the distinct impression that he may have been struck with a bout of plot-forwarding amnesia. He could have sworn he’d gone to bed with a Vulcan snuggled beside him.  
  
PS: It turned out that Spock was a cuddler.  
  
Anyway, in Spock’s stead, there was a drowsy Springer Spaniel. Although Gumby was like Jim’s number one man – this was awkward.  
  
Jim squinted blearily at Gumby. The dog blinked back.  
  
“What’ve you done with my boyf– Spock. Shit.  _Shit_ , man. I’m fucked, fucked in the head. If you hear me saying that word again, you have my permission to bite me on the ass.”  
  
Gumby’s only response was to lift his head from his paws and loll out his tongue. Jim groaned and flopped onto his back. He stared at the frozen blue shadows on the ceiling and said, “You’re no help.”  
  
He didn’t know if he was talking to the dog or himself.  
  
Jim peered past his shoulder at the green glowing numbers of the clock. Twenty minutes until his alarm. He might as well get up now, unless he wanted to lie in bed and sulk. Jim was a lot of things – charming, irresistible, brilliant, and he could do an excellent robot dance – but he was not a sulker. Just as a rule.  
  
With a sigh and some cracking joints – dammit, he was too young for creaking bones – Jim swung his legs off the bed and focussed on the blurry wall ahead. As his brain began to reboot he dressed slowly, mechanically layering up and reminding himself to turn up the heat. He couldn’t have his southern sister-in-law freezing her ass off. Spock, too.  
  
Jim stumbled downstairs, dragging his feet through the still house. Only Gumby’s nails clicking on the hardwood and Jim’s yawn echoed down the hall. Frowning to himself as he passed through the empty living room, Jim meandered into the kitchen and found it dark and empty as well. A spike of panic punched between his ribs.  
  
“Spock?” Jim whispered, already feeling his face go hot. His heart was beginning to stutter as he threaded through rooms. The air was utterly still.  
  
 _No_. Spock wouldn’t.  
  
Desperation clogged Jim’s throat, thick and suffocating. Spock wouldn’t disappear. Not like this. Not without a goodbye. Jim meant more to Spock than that.  
  
 _Maybe not_.  
  
Jim stood in the grey dawn light of the kitchen and unconsciously fisted a hand in the flannel over his heart. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think as his thoughts scrabbled and scattered for order and reason.  
  
How was he... how was he supposed to act right now? Nonchalant – take it with a grain of salt? Recognise this as following the inevitable path of everyone in his life? Dad, Mom, Sam...  
  
Maybe if it was daylight Jim would have been able to scowl theatrically and say,  _Well, this sucks balls_. But it wasn’t and he couldn’t.  
  
Jim fixated on the tiles at his socked toes as he went numb and still.  
  
Gumby scratched and whimpered at the back door. Jim looked up from his daze, wandered over, and opened the door to shoo out the dog.  
  
And there was Spock, in the distance.  
  
Jim inhaled sharply, a harsh gasp scraping down his throat as if he’d been under water for the past minutes. Sound rushed past his ears in waves – Gumby’s collar tags jangling as he bounded outside, the sound of Jim’s heart thudding at his temples, and the distant tick of the old grandfather clock in the living room.  
  
And there was Spock.  
  
Spock, who was bundled up in that fleece jacket he’d adopted as his own. Spock, with his hat and gloves on, leaning against a shovel with his profile tilted to the shadow-smudged sky. His face radiated with a subtle expression of wonder.  
  
It was snowing.  
  
Great, puffy cotton balls floated to the ground in flurries. It was that ridiculously magical snow from the movies, the kind that was clearly contrived by the talent of set design or whatever. Perfect snow that was almost suspended in air, teasing the ground as it drifted down and swept back up on a gentle wind. It was like standing in a snowglobe.  
  
Had Jim mentioned that  _Spock_  was there?  
  
Coat forgotten, hat and gloves and boots far from his mind, Jim stepped outside.  
  
Spock turned as if on cue, his face moon-pale in the waxing winter light. White flakes whirled and played around his tall, staid form as Jim approached with increasing speed. Before Jim could register his actions, he was off and running; his feet crunching on the fallen snow and his breath coming out in thick clouds. He squealed to a halt as he came toe to toe with Spock – and just stared. He wanted to look at this man forever.  
  
Snow melted on Jim’s cold-flushed cheeks as he canted his chin to meet Spock’s eyes. The warmth and affection reflected there was enough. Spock cocked his head silently, as if he too understood that dawn didn’t require words.  
  
Jim’s breath expelled in a great plume of fog as he broke into a smile and launched himself at Spock. Jim slung his arms around Spock’s neck with a short laugh, and the shovel dropped with a  _thump_. Strong hands came to bracket Jim’s hips, then slid around to cup his ass and pull him closer. Jim’s lips curved as he stole short, eager kisses and stepped his frigid, soaked, socked feet onto Spock’s boots. Their knees clacked awkwardly together and Jim felt like a little kid dancing with a grown-up, but fuck if he cared.  
  
“You seem to have misplaced your shoes,” Spock said against Jim’s lips. His thumbs caressed distracting little circles at the small of Jim’s back. “And hat. And jacket.”  
  
“Hey, I can take it,” Jim said with a lopsided grin. He stepped off Spock’s shoes and onto the thin crust of snow.”I was just –” Jim looked around. “Thanking you. For helping out with the farm work. And stuff.”  
  
Spock’s eyebrow arched. “Perhaps it would be wise to put on more environment-appropriate outerwear.”  
  
“Yes, well...” Jim nodded and backed up a pace. He was still grinning like an idiot.”That was the plan. Is the plan. I’m going to –” He jerked a thumb back to the house. “Yeah.”  
  
What an idiot he’d been, Jim thought as he turned his red face from Spock and scurried out of the snow and into the house. For the millionth time in the months since growing to know Spock, Jim reminded himself that they weren’t attached to each other. Scratch that – couldn’t be attached to each other. Not really.  
  
It was okay that they play house for the time being, as long as Jim remember that Spock didn’t belong to him.  
  
Not that Jim could say the same about himself, in reverse.  
  
Anyway, Spock wasn’t going to just up and go without word, without reason. Even though he had a reason – the whole E.T. Phones Home and  _Goes_  Home reason.  
  
Fuck, Spock  _did_  have a reason.  
  
This morning was a reminder of reality, something that Jim acknowledged he needed on a daily basis, to be honest. One day, Spock would leave. Just like everyone else. Jim had to be prepared for that.  
  
At the same time, it gave Jim an excuse to go all-out on their remaining time together. Hell, if they were going to crash and burn, there might as well be a brilliant, fiery fall.  
  
When Jim returned, rallied and properly dressed, he and Spock divvied up the remainder of the chores. Jim insisted that Spock be graced with the gift of his iPod. For all the intellectual shit Spock could pull out of his ass, Spock couldn’t tell the difference between a power ballad and a pop song. Which was like... no. Not allowed.  
  
“I do not enjoy this one,” Spock said, with his nose subtly scrunching.  
  
Jim tromped over and checked the iPod screen. “ _Dream On_? What? No way, man – that is like quintessential ballad badassery. Tyler hits notes that only dogs and sonar can hear, y’know?”  
  
“I do, unfortunately.”  
  
Jim rolled his eyes. “Poor unfortunate soul. Let’s trying something –” Jim thumbed through the songs with his head bent towards Spock. A soft inhale sounded in his ears, and he couldn’t help his cheeks from heating when he realised that Spock had smelled his hair. “Smoother,” Jim finished with a rasp. “Lower.”  
  
He pressed play and looked up, intently waiting for Spock’s reaction. Over the course of a few seconds, Spock’s expression shifted to something thoughtful, watchful as he peered at Jim and cocked his head.  
  
“Yes,” Spock said at a murmur. “I like this.”  
  
Jim smiled. “Guess we have a Leonard Cohen fan.”  
  
He turned away with the picture of Spock’s faintly curved mouth etched in his mind.  
  
After some time, Spock said from a distance away, “Is this... music?”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“I am unsure. Keh-dollar sign-ha.”  
  
Jim’s dropped his shovel and tripped over to where Spock was frowning at the iPod screen. “Yeah, you don’t want to listen to that.”  
  
“ _You_  listen to this music?” Spock asked with his eyebrows high.  
  
Jim shrugged and grinned. “I do what I want.” With that, he plucked one bud from Spock’s ear and popped it into his own. “What you got, boy, is hard to find – I think about it all the time! I’m all strung out, my heart is fried – I just can’t get you off my mind. ‘Cause your love, your love, your love, is my drug!”  
  
Spock was making a face like he’d just spent the morning shovelling out the barn – which, he had, but still. Jim dissolved into laughter and shook his head as he flicked through his playlist and switched songs. He felt like a kid acting out on the playground to impress their crush. And hell, it felt kind of good. He and Spock being relatively normal for once? Yeah, Jim wasn’t going to fight that.  
  
Riding on the high of his excellent early morning, Jim finished his jobs before Spock. After giving Spock an obnoxiously loud, smacking kiss on the mouth and watching his face scrunch up, Jim headed inside.  
  
“Morning.”  
  
Jim paused in the doorway and blinked at Sam, who sat at the kitchen table with a mug. “Hey.”  
  
They hadn’t really spoken since yesterday morning. When Sam and Aurelan had finally come through the door last night with a great gust of bitter wind, Jim and Spock had been on the couch watching reruns of  _Gilligan’s Island_  on Nick at Nite. The hour had been late enough that when the pair of them popped their heads in to say hello and goodnight, Jim had been practically comatose and even Spock only offered a tired nod.  
  
“How was your morning?” Sam said.  
  
Jim figured he couldn’t hightail it now, since he’d been asked a question and all. With a shrug, he slunk into the room and moved to the sink to wash his hands.  
  
“Above average,” Jim said. He barely held back a grin as he mentally relived what had occurred on the countertop right beside him. Oh, if only Sam could read minds  _now_. That would be fucking entertaining. “You?”  
  
“It was... really good,” Sam said, as if he’d genuinely thought it over. “Better than expected.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Things went well with Mom,” Sam said as Jim dried his hands and turned around. Sam’s expression was quiet, pensive as he looked into his steaming mug of coffee. “We talked for hours, and she got on with Aurie like wildfire.”  
  
Jim leaned against the edge of the counter and folded his arms. “I’d say that’s because they’re both awesome chicks.” He considered Sam’s profile closely. “You picked well. Can’t say the same about her, though.”  
  
Sam smiled into his coffee as he brought it to his lips. “No accounting for taste.”  
  
“Hell no.”  
  
A hollow clack sounded as Sam set his cup down. “Speaking of, uh...”  
  
“Taste?”  
  
“You’re  _with_  Spock, right?”  
  
Jim’s eyebrows shot up. “Right now I’m hangin’ with you, bro.”  
  
“Bro,  _really_?”  
  
“What’s wrong with bro, brotato chip?”  
  
Sam huffed a disbelieving laugh. “Are you trying to distract me from my question? Because it’s not working.”  
  
Jim held up his palms innocently, all smiles. “I bron’t know, am I?”  
  
“But really,” Sam said, searching Jim’s face. “You two are... dating?”  
  
 _You know about as much as I do, buddy_.  
  
“Have you seen us go on a  _date_?”  
  
“Jim.” Sam sighed. “I’m just trying –”  
  
“To look out for me?” Jim snorted. “Wow, thanks, but I really don’t need a babysitter.”  
  
“I babysat you for a good ten years of my life, Jim. I want to repeat that about as much as you do.”  
  
“So  _fuck off_ ,” Jim said with more heat than he’d anticipated. “Trust me, you’re awesome at it.”  
  
Sam’s mouth opened and then snapped shut. His ruddy cheeks darkened, and Jim errantly thought that Sam would probably make a good Santa when he was sixty and fat.  
  
“I just –” Sam drummed his fingertips on the table, his lips twisted in concern that rose Jim’s hackles. “Spock is an  _unusual_  person –”  
  
“No more unusual than that one chick I dated with the tattooed va–”  
  
“And I want to make sure you’re not getting into any trouble.” Sam paused and cleared his throat. “Or that  _he’s_  getting  _you_  into any trouble.”  
  
Jim stilled his instinctive retort and aimed a narrow look Sam’s way. While it  _was_  like his brother to try and play the Daddy Warbucks card, it  _wasn’t_  like him to insinuate or assume that it was Jim’s other half who was the bad influence.  
  
Unless Sam had somehow caught wind of...  
  
“How would  _Spock_  get  _me_  into trouble? Have you met the guy? He’s a fucking boy scout. Probably never missed a day of school, never talked back to his parents. He’s perfect.” Jim inwardly cringed. This was getting gross. He needed to evacuate and never consider the depth of emotion in his little speech ever, ever again – amen. “I’m gonna shower.”  
  
“There’s something about him, Jim,” Sam said with his brow furrowed.  
  
“And  _how_  would you know that?” Jim said, with his voice cracking. “How? And why is it that _I’m_  the only person within a twenty-mile radius who remembers that  _you all_  are as fucked up as I am? Why is it okay for everyone to delude themselves into believing they know what’s best for me when we’re all just as clueless as each other?”  
  
“Because Spock is  _dangerous_.”  
  
Jim froze, with his expression a mirror of Sam’s red-faced shock at the outburst. “What?”  
  
“I mean – I think he’s hiding something, Jim. He never answers a question straight, he’s got those strange –”  
  
“Fuck off,” Jim said with a sharp curl of a smile.  
  
Sam’s face went hard and he stood up from his chair, sending the wooden legs screeching across the floor. “I’m worried about you.”  
  
A slither of fear snaked around Jim’s heart and squeezed. “You’re a lot of things, Sam, but a liar isn’t one of them. I got all those genes.”  
  
Sam’s jaw clenched. “Pike.”  
  
Jim blinked. “Come again?”  
  
“A Sergeant Pike.” Sam’s expression was grave as he fisted his hands in his pockets. “He called me a while back. Introduced himself before I could hang up on him. At first, I thought he might’ve been an old friend of Dad’s.”  
  
 _Fan-fucking-tastic_.  
  
“ _Riiight_ , okay, Sam,” Jim said, carefully. He wasn’t about to lead this conversation anywhere he didn’t want it to go. This would remain about  _Sam_  now. Not Jim, not Spock, not Jim-and-Spock.  
  
Sam sucked in a breath, his gaze unwavering and open. “He got around to telling me that he had a reason to believe you were aiding and abetting a criminal. Someone apparently so important that the military wanted their hands on him.”  
  
They stood through a heartbeat of terse silence, before Jim choked out a laugh. The second bubble of humour came easier as he smiled and arched his eyebrows in the picture of disbelief.  
  
“Are you hearing yourself, man? And I thought  _I_  inherited the crazy in this family.”  
  
Sam’s jaw twitched. “Jim.”  
  
“Sam.” Jim gave a lopsided grin, while his heart thundered with war drums. “You can’t be serious.”  
  
“What else would I be?”  
  
Jim swallowed the hard lump in his throat and flung his hands about as he spoke. “The only reason I’m not laying into you right now is because of the lunacy of your accusation. Like, you might as well claim that Spock is an alien from outer space, for all the credibility your story holds. Get real, bro – who even  _is_  this Sergeant Pike character? He sounds like an extra from a Band of Brothers remake. Not that anyone could ever outdo such a piece of masterful cinema, but –”  
  
“I’m sorry for keeping this from you,” Sam said, as if Jim hadn’t spoken at all. “But I had to look out for you. I had to know – and now I do. Spock is... there’s something wrong with that guy.”  
  
Jim’s smile faded as quickly as he’d taped it on; his mouth went thin and tight. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And hey,  _fuck you very much_  for spying on me, big brother. What a help. We should win family of the year!”  
  
“ _Stop_ , Jim. Just stop.” Sam gestured between them emphatically. “Talk to me.”  
  
“Stop or talk? Which do you want?” Jim said with his arms clamped over his chest.  
  
“About Spock.”  
  
“He’s not your business,” Jim said sharply, “He’s not mine either, for that matter.”  
  
“I’m making him my business,” Sam said softly. “And I’m contacting Pike.”  
  
Red, red,  _red_  flooded over Jim’s eyes, thick on his tongue, filling his lungs and limbs and heart. Unable to register the first crack of his knuckles across Sam’s cheek, Jim snarled and dove forward with the same stinging fist.  
  
Sam crashed into the counter with a choked whoosh of breath. His hand slapped over his mouth in the same moment that Jim realised he’d connected with teeth and cut his own fingers up on them.  
  
Their eyes locked for a flash, and then Sam was back in it with a punch to Jim’s nose. Stars shot white-hot in Jim’s vision as he hissed in pain, his shoulders colliding with a wall. Sam’s massive hands pushed Jim’s chest back—back and further back—even when he could go no farther than slamming into the wallpaper over and over.  
  
This was childhood, Jim remembered in a daze, as he launched himself at his always older, always bigger brother. Despite Sam’s attempts at responsibility, there were times when the two of them were just too much for each other and it would all kick off. And when it began, there had been little to stop them.  
  
A wordless, grunting scuffle ensued – nothing like the fistfights of films. This was all grazing punches and awkward positions, bared teeth and scraped-up breathing, errant bruises and ugly expressions.  
  
“ _Fuck_  you, Sam!” Jim squirmed as Sam mounted him and straddled his stomach, using his weight to tower over Jim and glower. “Fuck your stupid fucking ideals of – of honour or – or, I don’t know  _what_. You want to protect me?” Jim gurgled on his own blood, spat it up and at Sam’s face, but missed and hit his shirt. “Then leave me the fuck  _alone_. Do what you do best and let me take care of  _me_.”  
  
“I  _love_  you, you fucking idiot,” Sam said with booming force. His mouth was bleeding and his left eye was swelling like an overripe fruit. He gave Jim’s shoulder a shove. “Can you stop being unrelentingly pissed at me for two seconds to get that I’m  _sorry_? I’m sorry, Jim – shit, I am sorry for leaving. I know I said I wasn’t, but I said it wrong, okay? Don’t you ever express yourself like a stupid kid rather than an adult? Don’t you ever make a douchebag decision and find that you learn something from it, anyway?”  
  
“Whatever.” Jim refused to acknowledge the waver in his voice, the dampness of his eyes as he struggled to sit up under the crushing weight of his brother. “You are such a royally fucked up dick, you know that?”  
  
“Yeah,” Sam said softly, his expression drawn as he leaned back. He tipped and dropped onto his ass, freeing Jim. “Yeah, I do. But I’m going to be a father, and I kind of want –” He shrugged and, in that moment, looked almost unnervingly like Jim. “I don’t know. I want us to be a family again. And if I did anything to tear us up –”  
  
“You did.”  
  
Sam looked up sharply, but the corner of his bloodied mouth twitched. “Then I want to be the one to fix it, like an adult. Like the man that Dad would’ve wanted me to be.”  
  
Jim sat up with a wince. He bunched up the hem of his t-shirt and brought it to his nose, where he felt the cloth becoming soaked through. “At least you know what Dad expected of you,” he said, his voice muffled and pathetic. Yes, he was definitely sounding pathetic. “No one’s ever expected shit from me.”  
  
“And you’ve  _acted_  like a little shit because of it.”  
  
Jim glared, but didn’t argue. His everything hurt too much to argue. Sniffling back some blood, he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His face stung, but not as much as his chest. Jim eyed Sam warily. “Don’t think I forgot why I socked you in the first place.”  
  
Sam matched his stare without wavering. “I hadn’t thought you did. I’m not changing my mind.”  
  
Jim’s nostrils flared, his heart hammering anew. “Why can’t you just believe –“  
  
“ _Jim_ , your entire reaction has been proof that Spock has something to hide,” Sam said with exasperation tight in his voice. “Can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“If you have an explanation that would change my mind, then change it.” Sam held out his hands, and then dropped them back to the tile with a slump of his shoulders. “What else can I do with this?”  
  
“What the  _heck_  is going on in here?” Aurelan’s voice rung out, high and appalled.  
  
Jim jerked his attention to the doorway, his brother doing the same. He was sure their expressions were twin ones of  _oh shit_.  
  
“Oh, Lord,” Aurelan said, frozen and wide-eyed in the doorway. “What on earth have you done to each other?” And just like that, she went from damsel to She-Hulk as she snapped her icy gaze to Sam. “ _George_  Samuel Kirk, explain yourself right now before you get a black eye to match the first.”  
  
“Uh,” Sam said helpfully.  
  
“Your husband is an asshole,” Jim said easily, as he lurched to his feet, using the countertop for leverage.  
  
Aurelan folded her arms over her pink, fuzzy robe and eyed Jim. “And you’re entirely innocent?”  
  
“Uh,” Jim said extra-unhelpfully, shuffling his feet. Okay, so maybe he and Aurelan hadn’t known each other long – definitely not long enough for Jim to expect her to take his side on anything. Especially with Sam looking the way he did.  
  
“Leave it,” Sam said as he stood. Jim wasn’t sure if that had been meant for him or for Aurelan. Regardless, the latter was rushing to her husband’s side, her mouth in a line, but her eyes shining with concern as she led him to the sink and began to soak a tea towel in cold water.  
  
Jim just wavered in the centre of the kitchen like a loser. Impotent anger and fear still simmered beneath his skin, and he didn’t know how the hell to chill out. Apparently he no longer got the same kick, the same relief, from using a smack-down to alleviate frustration.  
  
Standing there, blood dripping down his chin and speckling his shirt, Jim was lost. His words hadn’t saved him and neither had his fists. What more did he have in his arsenal?  
  
The slam of the back door clattering shut had Jim’s eyes widening.  _Oh, crap_.  
  
Jim didn’t know exactly how Spock would react upon seeing his face all gross and stuff, but he could make a pretty damn educated guess. He was a scientist, too, after all. Spock might not have been a violent guy – hell, he was obnoxiously pacifistic – but Jim got the feeling in two seconds’ time, he’d have a raging Vulcan on his hands.  
  
 _Danger, Will Robinson_!  
  
Without a word to Sam or Aurelan, Jim un-stealthily slipped out the other end of the kitchen and straight into the living room. If he was lucky, Spock would go up the stairs without searching for Jim.  
  
No, Jim was totally not running away. He preferred to think of it as a tactical retreat. He was certain that Han Solo had pulled that off at some point.  
  
When he heard Spock pause in the hallway, Jim knew it was all fucked. A pounding headache was swelling and pushing against the back of Jim’s eyes. His nose felt like he’d snorted wasabi. Spock was definitely seeing the damage Jim had inflicted on Sam. This was going downhill on a sled doused in gasoline and set on fire.  
  
Aureln’s voice came first. “Spock? Do you know what’s going on here?”  
  
Silence, then, “Where is Jim?”  
  
There was the sound of a chair scraping back, and Sam grunting as he sat. “He ran that way. He was always the punch and run type.”  
  
“Hey!” Jim stormed back into the room, a finger pointed in accusation. “Fuck you, not true. I don’t have any stories that come to mind to back that up at the moment, but I will have them on your desk by tomorrow morn–”  
  
“Jim?”  
  
Jim turned toward Spock in what felt like slow motion, a stiff smile frozen on his face. “Yes, hi.”  
  
Spock’s eyes were dark, dark like a villainous Disney characters’, and that didn’t bode well. Funnily enough, it also made Jim’s stupid fucking Cinderella heart go pitter-patter. Then he was no longer thinking about Disney, because Spock was whirling on his heel with a face like a brick wall and barrelling straight for Sam.  
  
“ _You_  did th–”  
  
“Woah woah woah, hold up.” Jim jumped in between them, and thank god Aurelan was there to act as a buffer as well. Unfortunately for Jim, his job wasn’t as easy as simply standing in front of Sam. Stopping a Vulcan on a mission was as easy as forcing Superman into underwear made of Kryptonite. When Jim put his hands out, he was met with a plough of force – which would have nearly knocked him back had he not hissed, “ _Spock_ , stop.”  
  
Much to Jim’s surprise, that actually worked. He’d never really dealt with someone who so often listened to reason – or, simply listened  _at all_. Anyway, Spock did stop, but he didn’t look happy about it. Instead, Spock shot daggers over Jim’s shoulder, his glower silently fixated on Sam.  
  
“Spock,” Jim said again, calmly. He lightly rested his hands upon Spock’s shoulders. “It’s no big deal. Brothers fight, okay? It’s a thing they do. We did it. Let’s all just –” The last thing Jim was going to do was move on from this, but he couldn’t let Spock in on Sam’s plans for once more fucking his life over. That would... not go well. The less Spock knew, the better. “Move on,” Jim said with what his throbbing face allowed for a smile.  
  
Spock’s jaw twitched as he flicked black eyes between Jim and Sam. “Jim,” Spock said finally.  
  
Jim dropped his hands to his sides and shrugged with a crooked curve of lips. “Don’t worry about it, man.” He brushed past Spock, didn’t look back to his brother or anyone else. “I’m gonna go for a shower.”  
  
Okay, so maybe Jim  _did_  punch and run. Who really cared?  
  
The answer came in the faintest brush of Spock’s fingertips at the small of Jim’s back. Jim nearly laughed. He didn’t know why he felt the giggle bubbling up – relief, frustration, whatever. All the same, it was there as he strode from the room with his chin jut high and his eyes dry.  
  
Sam’s voice called from the other room, “You’re just going to leave it like this?”  
  
“When have I ever?” Jim said as casually as he could. He didn’t wait for a retort, he just rocketed up the stairs. He felt ten fucking years old again, on the losing side of an argument with his ever-more-logical big brother.  
  
At the top of the landing, everything hit at once. Jim swayed on his feet, a thundering ache brewing and swelling behind his closed eyelids. He sucked in a breath and slumped forward, his hands resting on his knees as he blinked at the scarred floor planks.  
  
What the hell was he going to do? What  _could_  he do? When had Jim ever really had to stand up for anyone other than himself? How did a person even go about being a hero? Fuck if Jim knew. He’d always related better to the handsome fictional characters of indistinguishable morality.  
  
Spock’s booted feet stepped into Jim’s vision and a warm palm softly landed atop Jim’s head, long fingers sifting through his hair.  
  
“J–“  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Spock,” Jim said as he righted himself with a sharp jerk. He wrenched himself away from Spock’s reach and offered a smile in the face of Spock’s still-outstretched hand and faintly searching expression. “Sam and I haven’t agreed on anything in a long time.”  
  
That wasn’t quite true. When Jim and Sam weren’t arguing, they actually got on like wildfire. But Jim would say what was necessary. Heroes lied, right? Batman did – Superman did.  
  
Spock visibly hesitated, then nodded. “Come,” he said quietly, with his hand still outreached.  
  
Jim balked a bit. “What – where? I said I’m fine.”  
  
“You are shaking.”  
  
Jim’s jaw clenched. “I don’t need you to help me shower, Spock. I’m  _fine_. What’s Vulcan for  _fine_ , so I can get this across to you?”  
  
Spock didn’t rise to the jibe, though. He merely took Jim by the shoulders with a strength of command that had Jim further shivering, and turned him to face the bathroom door. Spock’s words were warm in Jim’s ear. “Even in my tongue, ‘fine’ has variable meanings. None of which I ascertain depict your current state.”  
  
Jim felt like jumping out of his skin, like he no longer fit here – within himself, within this house,  _anywhere_. He rolled a shoulder, a feeble attempt to brush off Spock’s heavy hand, but to no avail. He was pinned.  
  
“Have you always been this fucking stubborn?” he said between gritted teeth as he yanked on the doorknob.  
  
“I could pose the same query,” Spock said, his voice bland as he followed Jim’s dragging feet into the bathroom. Spock shut the door with a quiet click.  
  
Jim whirled around with a sour expression that he didn’t want to admit probably looked like McCoy’s. “Okay, I’m here now, you can go.”  
  
 _Leave me alone, leave me the fuck alone, I can’t let go around you – around anyone. Not really._  
  
Spock held Jim’s glare for a long, quiet moment. Just as the distant roaring in Jim’s ears reached a crescendo, Spock began to slip off his fleece jacket. Jim watched with distant fascination as Spock kicked off his shoes and stripped layers of cotton and plaid from his lean, sculpted torso. Socks came next, scrunched back over pale feet and set aside in the cavity of one boot.  
  
When Spock’s fingertips gripped at the button and zipper of his jeans, Jim jolted from his daze. Up until now, he’d never actually  _watched_  Spock undress, and it was – yeah, it was kind of  _really_  distracting.  
  
But it didn’t make Jim forget that he needed some  _space_. Room to air his thoughts, a place to plan a new angle of attack. He’d told Sam he wasn’t going to let this go, and he wasn’t. But Jim couldn’t  _think_  when Spock was here, being so fucking...  _disarming_.  
  
Jim was a guy with an itchy trigger finger; someone who burst into everything with guns blazing. Spock made him clumsy.  
  
“Spock, I...” Jim swallowed hard and felt his sore face sting. “You really need to –”  
  
“ _Jim_ ,” Spock said, his eyes shadowed as he stepped forward, his hands fisted at his sides. “I respect your privacy. More than any Human, I understand the necessity of emotional restraint. But you are also –” Spock’s mouth clamped shut as he searched Jim’s owlish expression, “someone whom I hold in great regard. I have reason to believe you consider me in the same context.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jim said with a brief, wavering grin, “You’re alright, I guess.”  
  
Spock’s eyes narrowed. “Then we have an accord as to my being unable to leave you.”  
  
“ _Uh_.” Jim nearly swallowed his tongue – which would have been a seriously unfortunate time for that to happen. His brain buzzed with a hundred different replies. Some heartfelt, some completely douchey, others utterly pathetic. “Yeah,” Jim said shakily, after a time. “I guess we do.”  
  
Then, like a dream in sluggish, syrupy motion, Spock began to undress him. Jim looked down, his heart in knots, as Spock began to unbutton his shirt; one careful flick of thumb and forefinger at a time. Jim wondered if Spock could feel the knock of his pulse against his ribcage, or if it was only deafening to  _him_. Either way, Spock seemed intent on discarding each layer that separated him and Jim from skin on skin.  
  
This just felt like a pantomime. Spock had already shed those layers which most protected Jim, and they weren’t his Nintendo boxers.  
  
Jim wasn’t sure what Vulcan mojo Spock was working on him, but every touch, every smooth of palm to flesh was like a lulling drug to his system. When Spock slowly stripped Jim of his last article of clothing, it wasn’t arousal he felt, but comfort, warm and soothing from the inside out. He watched with dumb silence as Spock turned the shower on screaming hot and let the steam plume in humid clouds.  
  
Even as Jim struggled for the words that tended to flow naturally, he felt simply tired. Exhausted from playing Han Solo, the Comedian, the Disney prince, the genius with a criminal record, the loyal son, the bratty brother –on and on and on.  
  
Here, right now, Jim could be bare. Before today, the one person who’d ever seen Jim in such a state was Gumby, and he was a  _dog_.  
  
“Gumby’s gonna be jealous,” Jim said groggily as he stepped under the spray and, with water in his eyes, watched Spock slip out of his remaining clothes.  
  
Spock looked up to Jim and flicked an eyebrow, but wisely enough, didn’t ask. Instead, he got in the bath and pressed up against Jim, enough to dip his head beneath the sharp, sweltering spray. Jim’s hands went to Spock’s waist to keep them both steady, but he felt heady and faint with Spock’s feel and scent.  
  
Who was this Spock who knew what Jim needed, even when Jim himself didn’t know?  
  
Jim went to nuzzle his nose against the wet crook of Spock’s neck, but ended up hissing in a sharp fit of pain.  
  
“Fuck my fucking nose,  _fuck_.”  
  
Spock pulled back and considered Jim with a critical eye. “It is not broken.”  
  
“Oh well, great, thank you for that diagnosis. Now it’ll hurt less.”  
  
Spock’s eyebrows shot up, but again, he didn’t take the bait. Apparently he wasn’t even going to give Jim the pleasure of a banter battle. Jim watched with what definitely was  _not_ a sulk as Spock stuck his hand out of the shower and came up with a washcloth. He soaked it beneath the spray and moved in to place it on Jim’s face.  
  
Jim jerked back instinctively, and this time Spock pinned him with a tart look. “What had you told me on the night we had met? ‘You are a huge fucking baby’,’ Spock said with the droll narration of someone from the National Geographic channel.  
  
“ _Hey_ , okay, well –“  
  
“‘You are, like’,” and, for the record, Spock sounded fucking  _terrifying_  and actually  _alien_ when quoting Jim, “‘a shittier alien than E.T. You –’”  
  
“Jesus Christ, alright –  _yes_ , I am a big baby, too,” Jim said with his arms folded across his chest and water clinging to his eyelashes. “I got it, you win.” He sighed and tilted his chin, ignoring the totally smug look on Spock’s face.  
  
And, to be completely honest – and Jim never really was – it was relaxing to have someone care for him. Jim let his heavy eyelids fall as Spock lightly pressed the towel to his sore nose. The sodden terrycloth gently swept down the abused bridge and rested on his top lip, wiping away the itchy and clotted blood.  
  
When Jim’s face was clean, and his headache started to subside, he bit back a whimper as Spock removed the towel. Opening his eyes, Jim followed the wet, glistening lines of Spock’s form as he reached for a bottle of shampoo.  
  
“I think I can manage that,” Jim said in a voice more hoarse than he’d expected. “I was punched, not crippled.”  
  
Spock just gave him  _A Look_  and squelched a blob into his palm. Jim just sighed and tipped his chin down, allowing Spock to massage firm fingertips against Jim’s scalp in neat, slow circles. Immediately waves of comfort soothed through the sinews of Jim’s neck, loosened the angles of his shoulders, and brought out a soft sigh of relief.  
  
Jim hummed with mellow delight, then quietly said, “If you wanted to know what happened between me and Sam – I mean, if you really wanted to – you could just look into my brain, couldn’t you?”  
  
Spock’s hands faltered, then restarted their sudsy massage. “I would never do that to you, Jim.”  
  
“But you could. And, had you not taken an epic nosedive into my field, you  _would’ve_  done it to whatever poor sap you were initially sent to programme.”  
  
Spock went silent, but continued the methodical movement of his fingers and palms. Jim half groaned as he leaned into Spock’s space, his mind trying to hook onto the line of conversation he’d started, while his body continued to slip into some kind of half-comatose bliss.  
  
When Jim tipped his head back beneath the spray to rinse away the fragrant foam, he faintly heard Spock say, “I will never look into you for information that I wish to hear  _from_ you.”  
  
“Uh huh.” Jim cocked his head, his gaze intent on Spock’s reticent expression. “Well, either way.”  
  
“What?” Spock’s brows fell. “Either way, what?”  
  
Jim shrugged. “Nothing.”  
  
Jim couldn’t say it, because he didn’t want it to be true. He didn’t want to ruin this kind of weirdly calm moment between them. He’d always been that guy who said the wrong thing at the wrong time, especially with those he cared about.  
  
So, he couldn’t say it.  
  
 _Either way, the people that I love the most are those who I don’t know if I can trust._  
  
Sam, with his parental well-meaning. Spock, with his alien ulterior motives. Was there no person who was completely on Jim’s side? Hell, Jim didn’t know if  _he_  was on his own side. With the way he threw himself into the wood-chipper of life time and again, he was doubtful.  
  
Stealing away his inner monologue bullshit, Jim wiped water from his eyes and smiled quizzically at Spock. “Did you just wash my hair with Aurelan’s shampoo? Because as much as I wouldn’t fault some extra luminosity and fullness to my locks, I’m pretty sure I smell like... I don’t know, a field of daffodils or something.”  
  
Spock flicked an eyebrow. “Shampoo is shampoo.”  
  
“This is chick shampoo.”  
  
Spock looked downright disapproving. “Shampoo does not have a gender connotation.”  
  
Grinning, Jim leaned in and slung his arms around Spock’s neck. “You just want me to smell like a Disney princess.”  
  
Spock sunk into Jim’s playful embrace as if they’d been doing it for years, his palms slick and slippery over the wet curve of Jim’s ass. Spock tone was low, soothing, very late-night talk radio. “I enjoy your scent regardless of the designation you place upon it.”  
  
For whatever reason, the stupid compliment left Jim wanting to tackle Spock, Gumby-style, and shower him with adoration. Although, he would not lick Spock – okay, maybe he would. Just not the face.  
  
Jim felt his brow wrinkle as he peered at Spock, sifting his fingers through Spock’s sodden cap of hair. “So, thanks, I guess.”  
  
Spock’s lips pursed faintly. “I believe I have lost the line of this conversation.”  
  
“For, y’know –” Jim waved a hand between them, taking a step back under the full force of the shower spray. “Being here, even when I didn’t want you to be.”  
  
Spock’s gaze flitted to the side, where he lingered on the tile wall with an unreadable expression. Jim could’ve sworn it wasn’t the sweltering steam in the room that had Spock’s cheeks flushing mint, as he said, “For as long as I am able, I will be here, Jim.”  
  
Something split within Jim’s chest – and, to be honest, it wasn’t all that bad. There was no pain. More like, the overwhelming relief that followed a spine-crackling stretch. Jim’s ribcage felt like it was expanding, opening up after a lifetime of clenching in on itself.  
  
“Yeah,” Jim said with a croak. Taking Spock’s hand and tugging him beneath the spray, Jim laced his fingers with Spock’s and heard his breath catch.  
  
Spock was frowning adorably, his gaze hooded and his eyelashes in long, thick spikes. “Jim?”  
  
“Yeah,” Jim said again, his curved lips coming up to meet Spock’s downturned ones. “I mean, I know.” Jim sighed against Spock’s mouth, his words slurred and love-drunk. “I get it.”  
  
For once, Jim really felt like he got it.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM ALIVE. THIS FIC IS ALIVE. I LOVE EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU WHO CONTINUED TO CHEER ME ON, LEAVE COMMENTS, BADGER ME, AND POKE ME ABOUT THIS FIC. YOU ALL HAVE MADE ME SO VERY HAPPY.
> 
> Since the last time I wrote and posted a chapter... I, like, had a baby and stuff. Real life stuff. She's one and a half now, that shit is CRAZY.
> 
> I also have a tumblr, it's atomicblonde.tumblr.com. I am as friendly as a damn golden retriever, if retrievers could swear and write porn, so please feel free to drop me a line to talk about WHATEVER. Or to make drabble requests, I also take those.
> 
> Dear readers, I desperately want to finish this story. There are only 16 chapters planned out, after all. And after that I want to turn it into a book. Albeit, a better version of this fic no doubt, but yes a book. We will see.
> 
> Comments, kudos, kisses, hugs, flavoured condoms are so very much appreciated. Love you all!

Jim felt about as healthy as the seven month old sausage McMuffin he'd found under the seat of his car after summer had pungently defrosted it.

Needless to say, his jolt of surprise when Spock kissed the damp nape of Jim's neck was akin to shoving his finger in an electric socket. Jim had been staring blankly out the window, a towel wrapped around his waist, his mind navigating his and Sam's conversation with crystal clarity. What could he have said better, faster, cleverer? What would be Sam's next move regarding Spock, and what would Jim do to fuck it up?

When Jim nearly jumped out of his skin in surprise and looked over his shoulder, lips parted in search of some smartass remark, Spock pressed his tentative lips to Jim's own.

Spock's willing gesture of strikingly human emotion was like a calming snow drift sweeping across Jim's scalded ego, cooling and covering him until his thoughts no longer raced, but idled in the silent, white world in which Spock blanketed him.

“What was that for?” Jim asked, somehow finding strength in his voice despise the weakness in his knees as he searched Spock's earnest eyes.

Spock blinked, his eyebrows subtly scrunching.

“I suppose I momentarily relented to my baser desires.”

Jim ducked his head as he chuckled and turned to properly face Spock. Either Spock seriously hadn't realised that the more time he spent around Jim, the more human and 'base' he became, or Spock was blatantly blinding himself to his own very obvious changes. Jim knew by now that Spock was as frighteningly astute as he was honest, and so he must be actively ignoring his own personal evolution.

“Only momentarily?” Jim said, loosely linking his arms around Spock's neck and leaning in.

While Jim had been not-busy with moping out the window in his towel, Spock had managed to half dress himself in a pair of Jim's boxers and black jeans. Their bare chests pressed warmly together, the thick thatch of hair swirling down Spock's torso lightly tickling Jim's belly.

“Particularly in this household, I find that I must maintain a modicum of constant control,” Spock said dryly, although he didn't pull away when Jim lightly thumped his forehead against Spock's and remained there.

“'Cause everyone in this house in coo-coo for Coco Puffs?”

“Are you speaking in code?”

“I might be.” Jim smiled, leaning in for an easy kiss and – his freshly punched nose brushed Spock's kind of in-the-way big one and a flare of fire rose up across his face. Hissing between his teeth, Jim pulled back and aimed a small smile Spock's way.

“Whoops, forgot.”

“I have not,” Spock said darkly, his eyes storming over.

“Hold your horses, buddy,” Jim said, pressing a palm against Spock's rock hard chest. “As much as the whole knight in shining spacesuit gets me going, you really don't wanna be starting anything with my brother. Just – just trust me on this, okay?”

“He hurt you.”

“We all hurt each other at some point,” Jim said with a wave of his hand as he stepped away from Spock to unearth some clothes. Unfortunately, he saw the flicker in Spock's eyes that could only be read as recognition of the truth. Of the fact that they, too, would end up one day hurting each other. That was just the way of things.

They finished dressing in silence, Jim wrapped up in his thoughts as he tugged an old, tattered high school hoodie over his head. His hair was already air drying into haphazard spikes and he didn't care to do anything with it today. He slipped his thick rimmed glasses on and decided today was a 'fuck it' kind of day.

“Here,” Jim said as he yanked a navy hoodie from his closet and chucked it across the room at Spock, who caught it neatly. “Now that the snow is setting in, you'll need to keep extra warm.”

“Thank you,” Spock said quietly, flicking a indistinguishable look Jim's way before turning around and slipping into the garment.

Jim watched the smooth, unfettered movements of Spock's shoulders, arms, hands. He seemed so at ease, weightless with inherent grace. Jim felt like a marionette, his limbs and emotions all strung up by different fears and anxieties, awkwardly jerking him this way and that. His confidence was a ruse, a show, while his insecurities ran the real deal.

This whole thing with Sam had left Jim shaken. The fact that Spock's future appeared rocky and dangerous weighed upon Jim's shoulders like a landslide. What could Jim do but run away with Spock – and if they did that, what would it really solve?

“Jim?” A firm hand rested upon Jim's hip, shifting him to face Spock's raised eyebrows. “Would it... benefit you to voice aloud your concerns?”

“Uh,” Jim said eloquently.

Spock frowned a little, his gaze flicking to the floor, then returned to Jim's owlish expression.

“Although I am unable to ascertain the connection between expressing one's worries aloud and the consequent emotional ease it gives humans, my mother was also rather fond of the activity. I grew accustomed to listening.”

“Thanks, but I'm not really - that's not my thing,” Jim said with a thin smile.

Spock opened his mouth to speak – but paused, his lips dipping in a small frown as attention shot to the window. “A car is approaching.”

Despite the tension coiling in Jim's gut, he couldn't help but snort a laugh. “Okay, Legolas.”

“I have seen those films, now. Are you stereotyping the form of my ears again or -”

“No, 'cause he has sensitive hearing like -”

“Doctor McCoy is outside,” Spock said, having moved to the window.

“ _Eh_?” Jim groaned and dragged his hands over his face. “Shit. _Shit_ , I forgot. Joanna is staying tonight, isn't she? Bones is on night shift at the hospital.”

“Your inherent mental disorganisation is fascinating,” Spock said as he watched Jim jumped on one foot as he tugged on a sock. “My mother was never stricken with such weak mental faculties.”

“Hey,” Jim said, struggling to put on a second unmatching sock. “I'm a fuckin' genius, dude. Don't make me quote PI to a hundred decimals.”

“Superior memorisation skills do not equate genius.” Spock said placidly, following Jim into the hall and down the stairs. “I can do two-hundred,” Spock said so quietly that Jim had to laugh.

The impatient rap on Jim's door announced Bones' presence.

Jim's socks barely squealed him to a halt, just stopping him slamming face first into the front door. He inched back and opened the door with grin that made his nose ache.

Bones' eyes bulged, his face going red.

“What the _fuck_ did you do?”

“Me?” Jim pressed a palm to his heart in a show of pain, his expression wide-eyed and innocent. “Why do you think _I_ did something? Hey, kiddo!”

Joanna smiled brightly as Jim ushered them in and shut the door, a gust of icy wind slapping him in the face before it closed.

Bones knelt to unwrap his overly bundled daughter with a scowl. “One, you've got the most punchable face this side of the Mississippi.”

“I think by punchable, you mean loveable.”

“ _Second_ ,” Bones enunciated the word by shoving Joanna's coat, hat, and gloves against Jim's chest and suspiciously eyeing Spock over Jim's shoulder. “I've never known it _not_ to be your fault. It's logic, Jim, _logic_.”

“Well...” Jim turned away, busying himself with tucking away Joanna's things in the closet.

“Let me take a wild guess. Sam?”

Brows furrowed, Jim looked over his shoulder.

Bones raised an eyebrow. The expression was almost Spock-like. Though the two men in Jim's life would probably fucking _give birth_ if they heard each other being compared.

“Jo,” Bones said, his gaze still fitted on Jim. “Go with Spock, please,” he said, vaguely signing in the direction of Spock at the stairs. “Daddy needs to have _a talk_ with your Uncle Jim.”

Jim aimed a meaningful look at Spock. “Take her to the kitchen and give her a cookie or something, 'kay? I think I heard Aurelan in there.”

“As you wish,” Spock said with an almost-shrug.

In a gestured that both surprised and warmed Jim to the core, Spock approached Joanna and placed a gentle hand on the top of her curly head and led her away. Jim wasn't sure how he know, but he was one-hundred percent positive that Spock's mother had done that to him as a child. It was such an automatic, _human_ touch that it couldn't have come from another source.

Mentally shaking off the distraction, Jim warily eyed Bones.

“How'd you know he was back?”

“Nyota. I guess your mom mentioned it to when she came to visit.” Bones firmly grasped Jim's arm, pulling him close, his expression intense and concerned. His 'Mad Doctor' look, Jim had long ago coined. “What'd you do, Jim? Throw yourself at him the second he walked through the door?”

“Something like that,” Jim said, avoiding Bones' gaze. He tried and failed to shrug off Bones' grip. “Look, we just have some shit to work through. We always have. Things just came to a head since he's been back. No big deal.”

“Doesn't look like a big deal. Looks like he went at you hard.”

“Hey, he doesn't look any better than me, alright? He may be bigger, but I'm fa-”

“You idiot, I don't care what he looks like – I don't know shit about him and I don't care! It's you I'm worried about, Jim. For fuck's sake, if you can't tell me what happened, who can you talk to?”

Jim startled a little, unused to hearing Bones speak so candidly about their friendship. Yeah, he was an honest guy – Jim's friends had little in common with each other aside from them all being straight-shooters – but he was hardly the mushy type.

“Oh, I get it,” Bones said with a scowl, “You've got Tall, Dark, and Creepy, right?”

A few seconds ticked by until Jim finally processed Bones' comment. He barked a laugh, a grin splitting his achy, pulsing face. Without warning, he threw himself at Bones in a bear hug. Ignoring Bones' sputtering and struggles, Jim squeezed harder.

“Don't worry, Bones, you're the only girl for me. Do you wanna exchange promise rings? Tattoo each other's names on our fingers? Bones and James would fit perfectly. I -”

Struggling like a cat about to be dropped in a bath, Bones clawed and yanked himself out of Jim's hold, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright with annoyance.

“You're such a shit, you know that?”

“I love you, baby,” Jim said with a smile.

“Fuckin' creep,” Bones muttered as he turned and yanked open the front door. Falling snow and snapping wind prickled Jim's gleeful face. Glowering over his shoulder, Bones said, “I'm on the night shift at the ER. I'll pick Jo up around 5am on my way back to the house.”

“Roger that,” Jim said, aiming a cocky salute at Bones.

With an exaggerated eye-roll, Bones offered a vague. “See ya later, kid. Don't get in any more fights or my remedy for you will be another black eye, courtesy of my fist.”

“Worst doctor ever!” Jim said with a laugh, receiving the middle finger in silent response.

Jim's smile disappeared the minute he shut the door behind him. He leaned back against the thick paned glass, chin tilted as he stared dismally at the ceiling.

It was easy to distract Bones from talking about things. At this point in their relationship, Jim was practically an expert. Not that he often used the tactic, but he was between a rock and a hard place. The less people who knew about Spock, the better. And since his and Sam's _disagreement_ was directly related to the Spock Situation, Jim had no choice but to zip his lips. He felt like shit for lying to his best friend, but for Spock, he would do anything.

Jim released a long, shaky breath. His hands fisted lightly at his sides.

For Spock, Jim would do _anything_.

Fuck, he was in deep.

_Shake it off_ , Jim told himself, _Taylor Swift style_. He bounced on the balls of his feet for a second like a boxer, cracked his neck from side to side and even gave the air a few errant punches to hype himself up for the rest of the day. He couldn't be a miserable dickwad around Jojo. And Spock would know straight away with Jim was overtly hiding something. So, Jim had to just wipe his worries from his mind.

Not as easy as it sounded.

Following the sound of Jo's laughter, Jim zigzagged through the living room and leaned in the open doorway to the kitchen. Folding his arms across his chest, his mouth curved softly at the sight before him.

Aurelan stood at the stove, expertly flipping pancakes for Jo's enthusiastic glee. Spock was setting dishes on the table, and Aurelan seemed to have been put in charge of cutting the green leafy bit off a bowl of strawberries with a butter knife.

Frost clung to the kitchen windows in delicate silver spiderwebs, the midday sun filtering gold through the ice and warming the kitchen. The radio had been quietly turned on, and Johnny Cash and June Carter sang a duet about getting married in a fever.

Everything felt like home.

“Oh, Jim!” Aurelan had turned, offering him a smile, then a reflexive frown. “You poor darlin'. You two really did a number on each other, didn't you?”

“I – yeah,” Jim said a little sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he remained on the outskirts of the kitchen.

He almost felt like he was intruding. When was the last time he'd belonged in a proper family?

“Well, I trust you two will work it out on your own time,” Aurelan said, sounding utterly confident in what she clearly did not realised where two brothers more fucked up than Thor and Loki. Or, at the very least, equally fucked up.

“You have a better chance of winning the lottery,” Jim said, before he could keep his mouth shut.

“Well,” Aurelan said, sliding a pancake onto a growing stack and pouring a batch of batter into the pan. “I know what I see, and I see two very silly boys who love each other very much.”

Jim felt his cheeks heat as he looked down at his feet with a self-deprecating smile. “Here's hoping.”

“Jim,” Aurelan said, turning and aiming her soft, sober stare his way. “I trust the both of you. You'll work this out, okay? Now come in here and let's have breakfast for lunch.”

Aurelan's quiet confidence was like a cannonball to Jim's stomach.

“You are way too good for my brother,” Jim said a little breathlessly, his smile growing increasingly genuine.

Aurelan aimed a cheeky winky his way. “I know.”

Jim could only laugh and shake his head.

“Welcome to the family. Let's have pancakes.”

***

Sometime around midnight, Jim's own loud snore woke him up with a startled jerk. Distantly he heard himself make some kind of vaguely inhuman zombie noise as he rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth and blinked blearily at his darkened surroundings.

Spock scent surrounded him first – warm, smokey pine trees and sharp, invigorating snowfall – before Jim's sleep-addled brain registered that he'd fallen asleep with his head on Spock's strong shoulder. And on Spock's thigh, Joanna had her head pillowed, her curls splayed like a whirlwind across Spock's lap.

“ _Ugh_...” Jim sat up and stretched his hands over his head until his spine crackled like the currently glowing fire flickering in the hearth. “Did I drool on you? Sorry.”

“Are you rested?” Spock said softly, his voice like a warm, velvet hum stroking along Jim's skin. The room was pitch black, but for the eerie blue glow of the television and the gilded orange cast of firelight.

“Yeah,” Jim rubbed his eyes and bit back a hiss as his knuckles brushed his sore nose.

He startled when warm, strong fingers circled Jim's wrists and lightly pulled them away from Jim's face. Spock's eyes were dark and earnest, his mouth a soft, delectable frown.

“Be careful,” Spock said.

Something in Jim's heart audibly cracked in his ears. He smile crookedly.

“Too late for that.”

Spock's eyebrows furrowed for a mere second before smoothing out, his face a mask as he continued to delicately hold Jim by the wrists. In fact, he was barely keeping Jim in place, now. It was Jim who chose to stay.

Joanna murmured a little sigh in her sleep. A log cracked and split in the fire, shooting firefly sparks. Fat, shimmering flakes of snow drifted against the frosty, shadowed windows.

Spock's long, inky lashes fluttered down as he leaned in and tenderly pressed his lips to Jim's. Spock's thumbs were on Jim's pulse as Jim melted into the kiss, his palms moving to cup Spock's jaw so delicately that Spock's bones may have been made of porcelain.

There was no urgency in the kiss, nor hesitancy. There was a simplicity in this moment which had not previously existed. Maybe this was the only way Spock could give himself to Jim. Maybe this was really all they could have together.

Jim would take it. Selfishly, he would take everything Spock could offer.

Spock's breath was warm and sweet against Jim's mouth as the slowly parted, reminding him of the Chai tea Spock was growing fond of drinking. Cinnamon, cardamom, honey.

Jim released an uneasy breath and shut his eyes, pressing his forehead to Spock's. His hands were still on Spock's face, fingertips at his temples, the sharp curve of jaw. Jim swallowed hard, trying to find words when none would suffice. On his tongue, he tasted Spock. His senses were clouded with his winter hearth scent, his hands growing increasingly warm from Spock's skin, the pads of his fingers nearly burning with -

“Is it possible to remain like this forever?” Spock said in a voice that reverberated in Jim's mind like a dream come true.

“Freeze time,” Jim said with a humourless, breathy laugh.

Spock startled, pulling back suddenly, his eyes wide. “Pardon?”

“Huh?”

“Did you...”

“Okay, well I know it's not possible to freeze time, Mister Literal,” Jim said, dropping his hands on his lap and offering an amused little smile. “But you're the one who is asking ridonkulous questions, for once.”

“I had not said anything,” Spock said tightly.

“But I... _heard_ you? So...” Jim said, screwing up his face in an 'are you crazy' look.

“Of course.” Spock said, after staring hard at Jim for a moment. “I must not have realised I had spoken aloud.”

“Maybe _you_ need some rest, buddy,” Jim said, clapping Spock on the shoulder.

“Perhaps,” Spock said, but he was peering over Jim's shoulder and into the distance. He was thinking about _something_ , but Jim was in no mind to pick at that complicated brain tonight.

“For now,” Spock added, “I will remain here. I do not wish to wake Joanna.”

“You're a real softy for her, y'know,” Jim said with a genuine curve of lips. He could swear he saw Spock's face darken and, unsurprisingly, he didn't reply. Jim shifted so he could lean his head on Spock's shoulder once more. Some anime on Adult Swim went unseen before his field of vision.

“Hey, Spock?”

“Yes?”

“Do you miss your mom when you go on, like, missions? Or like, right now?”

“There is no logic on missing someone who is not gone. Distance has no influence on my mother's existence. She remains on Vulcan, as she will upon my eventual return.”

“That's not a yes or no.”

Again, Spock didn't reply.

Jim heaved a sigh.

“So you won't miss me when you go, huh? What a jerk.”

“I...”

Jim could feel Spock swallow. Reaching towards their knocking knees, Jim took Spock's hand and interlinked their fingers. Spock shivered.

“You are... a unique set of circumstances,” Spock admittedly quietly.

“I love it when you compliment me so scientifically,” Jim said with a muted chuckle. “So, you're saying you'd miss me?”

“I will never find another companion such as fascinating as yourself. Of that, I can be sure.”

“Dork,” Jim said with a wide smile. For a while, the silence was a comfortable one. Until Jim decided to open his mouth again. “You don't have anyone waiting for you back home?”

“I am sure several people await my return, especially as they will have been notified that I have gone missing.”

Jim blew a raspberry.

“You know what I mean. Someone like... _me_.”

“There is no one like you, Jim.”

Jim stiffened, but didn't move from his spot against Spock.

“Hey, Spock.”

“Yes?”

“Ever heard the saying, never bullshit a bullshitter?”

“I have now.”

“Smartass. It means don't try to trick someone who's tricker than you. That would be _me_. I know avoidance through flattery more than you ever will, dude. The fact that you're _not_ giving me a straight answer is answer enough.”

There was a moment of silence and a little expulsion of breath through Spock's nose which may or may not been a Vulcan sigh of exasperation.

“I find myself constantly underestimating you, Jim. For that, I apologise.”

“Damn straight. Now, tell me about him – _her_?”

Jim heart clenched to ask, but his curiosity had always led him down the path less travelled. Usually that path was riddled with hundreds of landmines and Jim ended up a limbless Anakin Skywalker, but the knowledge was almost always worth it.

“She is what you would consider a betrothed. Vulcans are paired with another at the age of seven, regardless of personal preference of the fiance.”

“So, what you're saying between the lines is that you don't like her?” Jim said, a jealous little green worm wiggling with joy in his heart.

“I do not dislike her, nor do I have any emotion towards her at all, if I am honest. Though I would hazard an estimate that she is as headstrong as yourself, I have reason to believe she wholly dislikes being betrothed to the planet's first mixed-race Vulcan.”

Jim frowned and burrowed his head beneath Spock's jaw a little, nearly purring when Spock's hand came up to palm the nape of his neck.

“So your perfect, glorious Vulcan is full of racists, huh? So much for being more enlightened that us, like you enjoy pointing out.”

“I do not enjoy pointing out anything of the sort. And racism had never been encountered among Vulcans until I was born.”

“That's _shitty_ ,” Jim said wholeheartedly. “Vulcans are assholes.”

Jim ever been on the wrong end of racism, but he could never wrap his head around the kids at school who had treated Uhura and her siblings like they were lesser beings. Uhura's family was the most kind, vibrant, welcoming family he had ever known. They were incredible people – _she_ was an incredible person. And Spock was... well, Jim wasn't about to wax poetic on that shit.

“How does your mom handle it?” Jim asked, when Spock clearly wasn't going to rise to the bait of defending Vulcan.

“She practices more patience than any Vulcan I know,” Spock said with a definite note of fondness, his hand sliding from Jim's neck to cup his shoulder and unconsciously cuddle him close. “And her kindness is beyond my fathoming.”

“She sounds like a badass,” Jim said. “I wish I could meet her.”

“I do believe you two would... how does the saying go? Get on like a house on fire.”

Jim stifled a snort with his hand, his eyes darting to the sleeping form of Joanna. He turned and muffled his laughter into Spock's chest.  
  
“Fuck, you are funny sometimes.”

“I fail to see the humour,” Spock said dryly. His fingers had meandered into Jim's hair, carding through the tips lightly.

“Don't worry about. It's just that your mom is gonna love the shit I've taught you since you've been gone.”

“I would rather not share with her _everything_ you taught me.”

This time Jim laughed out loud, causing Joanna to scrunch her closed eyes and shift on the couch. Looking down at her warmly, Jim's lips curved.

“I'm gonna bring her up to my bed. Stay here.”

“I was not planning on going for an evening walk in the snow,” Spock said with such brittle sarcasm that Jim couldn't stifle the wide smile that caused his nose to pulse with new pain.

He continued to smile to himself as he carried Joanna to his bed and tucked her in for the remainder of the night. He and Spock could easily bunk on the couch for the night.

Okay, so they were both over six-foot tall dudes, but whatever, the floor could work too. It could be like a sleepover.

Apparently Spock had been thinking the same, because by the time Jim came downstairs, a few quilts and throws had been laid out over the rug, in front of the fireplace. The few decorative-type cushions that normally dotted the couch and chairs were laid at one end of the blankets.

Spock was peeling off Jim's hoodie, his t-shirt riding up to expose the pale expanse of flat stomach and a dark trail of hair that disappeared in flannel pyjama pants.

“Cosy,” Jim said, his heart flip-flopping at the sight.

“The couch would not be comfortable for the both of us tonight,” Spock said as he diligently folded the hoodie and placed it on a side chair. His hair was truly growing out these days, hiding the tips of his ears as well as the sharp ends of his eyebrows. It also stuck up in all directions from the static of the sweater.

“ _Spock_ ,” Jim said suddenly, shocking himself with the intensity of his own voice.

Spock turned, Jim's name on his tongue, when Jim rushed in and crushed his mouth against Spock's. Jim poured himself into the kiss, his hands burying in Spock's hair, tugging him in tightly. Spock opened for the kiss as if they'd been doing this for a hundred lifetimes, so natural, so perfectly matching Jim's passion, his heat, his desperation to take everything the other had to give.

Large, urgent hands gripped Jim's hips, holding them hard, yanking them close so Spock could rock his sudden and obvious erection against Jim's. An electric shock knocked a gasp from Jim's lips, and Spock lapped it up greedily with strong sweeps of tongue and a delving demand for more. However much Jim wanted to devour Spock, it seemed as though Spock may have wanted it even more.

Spock's palms dragged up beneath Jim's shirt, fingertips tracing the dips and contours of his ribs, sliding the hem up until they parted for Spock to throw the shirt aside. Jim dove for Spock the moment he was free, his moments frenzied as he ripped Spock's shirt away and quickly dropped to his knees, taking Spock's pyjamas and boxers along to the floor.

A sharp inhale from above had Jim biting down on his bottom lip and looking up.

Spock met his hungry gaze with wide, dark eyes. He brushed his hand through Jim's hair, slid his hand down to cup his cheek. Without breaking eye contact, Jim ducked his chin and took Spock's thumb into his mouth and gently bit down.

A trembling exhale filled the room, and Spock's thick, full cock engorged even more, bobbing before Jim's mouth like a taunt.

“You are extraordinary,” Spock rasped, more out of breath than Jim had ever heard.

Jim's heart swelled as he took Spock's thumb fully into his mouth, sucking hard, then soft, then lapping the flat of his tongue against the pad of Spock's finger. When Spock finally gasped Jim's name like a prayer, Jim released Spock's thumb with wet pop and moved on to bigger and better things.

Letting his damp lips slowly slide down Spock's length as far as Jim could go, Jim moaned deep in his throat, the sound vibrating across his tongue and surrounding Spock's dick. Spock's hands fisted sharply in Jim's hair, his hips canting forward just enough to make Jim's eyes water.

Still, this was everything. Spock was everything. Jim lost himself in the pleasure of pleasuring Spock, this simple act bringing Spock to the very edge of his beautifully controlled sanity.

Gripping the base of Spock's erection, Jim wetly jacked his cock in time with his mouth's movements. Spock's stomach was jittering, flinching every time Jim scraped his teeth along the underside of his cock, every time his fingers snuck from their hold of the base to gently cup and roll Spock's balls. Jim hadn't done this in a long time, but apparently it was good enough for Spock, whose grip on Jim's hair was bordering on delicious shocks of pain.

“Jim,” Spock said, his voice faintly shaking, “ _Please_. Let me...” He tugged on Jim's hair, coercing him up.

“No,” Jim said, lapping at the ferociously leaking head of Spock's dick. “You come down here.”

“Yes,” Spock breathed with relief. “Yes, whatever you desire.”

“I desire a lot of things,” Jim murmured, his voice gravelly, as he watched Spock fall to his knees and reach for him. “I've always been pretty selfish like that.”

“Tell me,” Spock murmured, bowing his head so that his words whispered against Jim's neck. His kissed the delicate skin behind Jim's ear. “Tell me your dreams.”

_Treat me like you'll never leave._

“Just be with me,” Jim said, canting his chin to offer better access of his throat. “However – _whoever_ – you wish you could be, just be that. With me.”

Spock's mouth paused on the curve of Jim's shoulder, going utterly still. Then he was shoving Jim back onto the thick cushion of blankets, his hands dragging at Jim's own pyjamas, his boxers, balling them up and throwing them over Spock's shoulder.

His gaze devoured every inch of Jim's body, as if memorising it for life. The fire blazed beside them, casting a fiery brightness to Spock's eyes and prickling sweat at the small of Jim's back. Probably without realising it, Spock licked his bottom lip before he crawled over Jim on all fours, like a large, lithe wildcat preparing to pounce its prey. And _fuck_ , Jim wanted Spock to rip him to shreds.

As if reading his thoughts, Spock plunged forward and nipped at Jim's jaw, his chin, his lips, coaxing them open, so to taste Jim's desperation.

“Your mouth -” Spock said between biting, nipping kisses, “hugely distracts me.”

“ _Good_.” Jim hummed with pleasure as he reared up and captured Spock's mouth in a wet, sloppy kiss, his arms and legs wrapping around Spock, clinging to him, refusing to let them part for even a second.

They remained that way for longer than Jim could measure. Until their tangled limbs were sliding from Jim's sweat, their erections sticky and slick and rutting against each other, until Jim's lips were bruised and pulsing from a dozen too many wild kisses.

“Lube?” Jim whispered, trailing his tongue along Spock's ear, his top teeth just grazing the tip. “Condoms?”

“P-pockets,” Spock said breathlessly, unwinding himself Jim's lean arms and legs to vaguely gesture to his hoodie on the chair.

Jim laughed breathlessly and flopped his head back on the quilts, staring at the firelight dance across the ceiling.

“Fuckin' _love_ how prepared you are all the times. Boy Scout Spock.”

Spock was already returning to Jim and tossing the lube and condom to the side with a carelessness Jim barely ever saw. It only had his dick twitching with even more interest. Jim reduced Spock to this, and that was enough for him. It had to be enough.

“What do I – _wah_!”

Jim yelped and laughed as Spock kneeled, then promptly dragged him by the legs until Jim's knees were slung over Spock's shoulders.

“ _Jesus_ , Sp -”

Words were punched straight from Jim's gut and left him gasping for air as Spock ducked his head, spread Jim's asscheeks and plunged his tongue between. Waves of overwhelming pleasure crashed through Jim's body, his nails digging into the blankets for purchase against the storm Spock's lapping, swirling tongue caused. Spock's mouth was tenacious, driving Jim higher and higher, splitting him in two with cascades of shocks and jolts straight through his core.

“Sp...” Jim swallowed hard, licked his lips, and flung his arms above his head to grip the pillow tightly. “ _Spock_ ,” he rasped. “I need – _fuck_ , I need.”

Jim's legs were finally dropped, but Jim could only whimper at the loss of Spock's tongue. His eyes fluttered open as he felt Spock continue to kneel between Jim's knees, manhandling his limp, buzzing limbs until his legs were spread before Spock like an offering.

The sheer concentration on Spock's face as he lubed up his long, slender fingers left Jim dizzy. There was no doubt in his mind that Spock was one-hundred percent invested in Jim, in this moment, in _them_. Spock's expression was so intense that Jim vaguely wondered if he'd notice a bomb going off outside.

Then, his thoughts popped and fizzled like fireworks as Spock slowly slipped a finger into him. Jim arched off the quilts with plaintive moan, and already he knew this wouldn't be enough.

“Another,” Jim said gruffly. This wasn't Jim's first rodeo, his ass could take a quick, rough opening.

“ _Jim_ ,” Spock said urgently, his voice sounding scraped up and fucked. But he obeyed, plunging two slicked fingers in necessary force. Jim cried out, lifting his hips, thrusting mindlessly against Spock's hand as he brushed that perfect, heavenly spot within him.

It wasn't long before Jim was moaning for more, and Spock was giving it to him. Jim squeezed his eyes shut tight, saw fire glowing behind his lids, felt flames fanning beneath his skin. Writhing onto Spock's fingers, Jim bit down hard on his bottom lip, liking bruising it just before the sharp pain brought him around again.

“ _Spock_.” With a burst of energy, Jim lurched up and found himself sitting on Spock's lap, feeling bereft of those talented fingers. Jim met Spock's hot gaze, raked his nails down that proud chest, hard stomach, gripped his sides and dug in his blunt nails. “Fuck me now.”

Spock released an unsteady breath, seemingly unable to look away from Jim. One hand gripped the damp nape of Jim's neck, keeping him in place as his other hand almost frantically skimmed the floor in search of the condom.

“Put it on,” Spock said lowly, holding it up between them.

Jim didn't have to be told twice. Hell, if Spock had asked him to bark like a dog right now, he probably would have.

At least it brought Jim a shiver of joy to see Spock's eyes involuntarily fall closed as Jim slid the condom down over Spock's throbbing cock. Jim brought his mouth to Spock's ear, his lips just brushing the hot skin.

“I'm gonna ride you now, Spock, and you're gonna fuckin' love it.”

Y _ou're gonna love_ me _._

Jim slung his arms around Spock's shoulders, drawing himself up to his knees, his thighs on either side of Spock's thighs as he arched his back and reached behind him to line up Spock's dick with his hole.

Spock's eyes snapped open and pierced Jim with a hungry stare. Without warning, he grabbed Jim's ass, spread his cheeks once more, and pushed guided Jim down onto his cock until he was fully seated in seconds. A burning fullness had Jim hissing a sharp breath as he rocked his hips a little, relishing the feel of Spock's dick pushing him to the peak.

Then Spock thrust up into him in one sharp roll of hips and Jim simply broke. He dropped his forehead to Spock's held him close, and rode him like it was the end of the fucking world. The sloppy, wet slap of his ass against Spock's thighs and their mingled, heavy gasps fogged up the room. A sliver of sweat tracked down Jim's spine and Spock's hard, roaming hands slicked it across the cleft of his ass.

Jim hadn't a clue how many times he rose up and dropped down onto Spock's dick, but the pressure was building and his thighs were shaking from effort, his breath coming in damp huffs against Spock's neck.

“Spock,” Jim whispered hoarsely as he speeded up the rhythm of his hips. “You're everything... everything I desire.”

Surprise slammed through Jim's system as a short, deep growl rumbled from Spock's throat. At the same time, he bit down on Jim's shoulder hard, fisted a his lubed hand around Jim's cock, and Jim was cumming in hard, explosive bursts. The orgasm came as such a shock that Jim could only gape into Spock's skin and shudder in his arms as he felt Spock's dick twitch, pulse and empty within him.

Spock's forehead dropped to the shoulder which he'd bitten, puffs of humid breath sticking to Jim's sweaty flesh.

They remained that way for a while, clinging to each other, catching their breath. Jim turned his head, resting his temple on Spock's shoulder while he stared into the dying fire.

“You bit me,” Jim said.

“I...” Spock swallowed. “Apparently.”

“Vulcan on the streets, freak the sheets, huh?” Jim said with a grin.

“Your representation of my personality is rather misinformed.”

“Nah,” Jim said with a weak laugh. “Pretty sure I'm always right.”

“You certainly seem to enjoy clinging to your delusions.”

Jim chuckled and found the energy to lean back and tilt his hips enough to lose Spock's dick in his ass. He winced at the feeling of it slipping out. That was always the gross-feeling part, to be honest.

With no romance or ceremony whatsoever, Jim let go of Spock and simply flopped back in a heap upon the blankets.

“ _Guh_ ,” he said, closing his eyes.

“Indeed,” Spock said softly.

Jim heard him stand and head to the kitchen – disposing of the evidence. By the time he returned, Jim was already more than half unconscious.

“Jim, you need to get dressed. It would not be appropriate for – Jim?”

“ _Muh_. Soon.”

There was a moment of silence, then a definite sigh. Jim's lips quirked when he felt Spock slipping his boxers over his feet, then sliding them up his legs.

“Lift your hips,” Spock said.

“Yessir,” Jim slurred. He couldn't remember the last time someone cared enough to dress him. His mom, back in gradeschool, probably. It made him feel all warm and fuzzy.

“You're just like a mom,” Jim said happily.

“I hope not,” Spock said under his breath as he worked Jim's pyjama bottoms on.

Jim snorted a laugh. He floated along the thin line of sleep and wakefulness until he felt Spock settle in – fully clothed – beside him.

“Hey, Spock,” Jim mumbled, shifting so he could curl against Spock's side and rest his head upon Spock's chest.

“Yes?”

“Think you'll keep doin' this when you go home?”

Jim knew he could only ask now, because he exhaustion was claiming his common sense, and his defenses were down.

Spock's hand stilled in Jim's hair.

“Doing what?”

“What you do. _Enlightenment_ bullshit.”

“Jim...”

“Jus' wonderin' is all.”

“Truthfully, I do not know.” In a gesture that Jim knew he would cherish forever, Spock kissed the top of Jim's head and spoke quietly into his hair. “You have changed everything.”

Jim felt his cheeks go hot and pointedly ignored the way his heart wanted to leap from his chest and dive into Spock's hands.

“You too,” was all Jim said.

_You've changed everything for me, too._

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What the fuck is going on right now,” Jim said flatly. “Am I dead? Because I expected there to be less Mad Max wasteland and more virgins. That was what I was led to believe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly, guys. It's been a long time. A really - REALLY - long time. Thank you from the bottom of my heart to all of you readers, and to everyone who would check back with this fic and write comments. To everyone who sent me kind words of encouragement on tumblr. To all the cheerleaders. Every single one of you made this happen.
> 
> This chapter is admittedly short, as far as KCACV chapters go. Reason being, next chapter is a doozy. There's actually only two more chapters left. 
> 
> A lot has happened. Mainly, my daughter turned three and I was also diagnosed with kidney failure and am now on a kidney transplant list. Life has been pretty crazy, but these boys and this story and YOU READERS have all been at the back of my mind. This story means a lot to me, and I want to finish it properly, and in a way that will bring peace to everyone involved.
> 
> Thank you for going on this journey with me. Please feel free to comment. I hope you've missed our stubborn, blabber mouth Kirk and our very human alien. I know I have!

“ _Doctor Bones, Bones, calling Doctor Bones. Doctor Bones, Doctor Bones_ –“

“Shut up, now,” Bones interjected Jim’s obnoxious whisper-singing as he clipped his sleeping daughter into the carseat. Jo’s head lolled to the side like a drunk, her mouth hanging open.

Jim shoved his hands into the pockets of his fleece jacket and bounced on the balls of his feet in a fruitless attempt to stay warm. Five in the morning was a damp, dark blanket over the sky, and the muddy snow squelched and scrunched beneath their feet. Jim watched his breath emerge in great white plumes, obstructing his view of his friend.

“What’s your advice, then?” Jim asked quietly.

Bones didn’t pretend to not know what Jim was talking about. They knew each other well enough. He shut the back door of the car and faced Jim with an earnest frown.

“I don’t know, Jim. You could forgive and forget, but you’re not the type to forget, anyway. Forgive, maybe. Talk to him like a normal human being. But what do I know? I hate people.”

“Well, you’ve been about as helpful as the flu,” Jim said dryly.

“Fuck you.”

They both stood under the cover of night, the waxing moon casting a faint grey glow across the landscape. Both quiet, considering.

Jim chewed in the inside of his cheek.

“Forgive, huh? After everything.”

“Or, I mean, you could continue to punch him for the rest of your life. That’s pretty fulfilling, too.”

“Damn right it is.”

“Is it?”

Jim scrunched his face in distaste. His nose radiated with a hollow ache, reminding him just how un-fun it all was.

“I just want him to admit he’s been a dickhead all our lives. And maybe grovel a little.”

“And he hasn’t done either of those things?”

“Well…” Jim shivered and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna head inside. You go get your beauty sleep, old man.”

“Ain’t no amount of sleep gonna make this face pretty, thank the Lord.”

They exchanged their mumbled goodbyes. Jim stood in front of the house, arms hugging himself tightly as he watched Bones’ car rumble down the long driveway.

He licked his chilly, chapped lips and turned on his heel to head for the door. Jim inclined his head to appreciate the silver sickle moon, when –

An eerie glow of blue sizzled from the window of his bedroom upstairs.

Jim’s gawked, his mouth agape, his heart lurching straight up his throat, punching the breath straight out of him.

He ran.

The front door was left ajar in his scrambling haste, icy winter fingers cutting at his ankles as he fled up the stairs, taking two at a time. Blood rushed and roared in his ears as he trailed mucky, slush bootprints in the unlit hallway.

Jim struggled to a halt, his throat burning as he swallowed down the bile of panic.

Illuminated from the crack beneath his bedroom door was the dull yellow cast of his regular lamp. No ethereal blue hum of light. But he knew what he’d seen. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew he’d seen it. This wasn’t some hallucination brought on by fourteen hours of Skyrim and warm Bud Light.

Muffled by the door was Spock’s voice, dull and monotone.

Jim squinted, struggling to hear as he pressed his ear against the paneling.

Another voice – a stranger – droned in and out of clarity.

“You have… markedly absent… lack of reports… concerning… Spock.”

“There has been no…” Spock seemed to walk further from the door and Jim could no longer make out his end of the conversation.

“Are you reporting failure?” the other voice intoned with a notably grey tone.

Jim gritted his teeth. His eyes were hot in their sockets, his cheeks aflame. His fists groaned with the tight grip he held at his sides.

“I –” Spock started.

Jim yanked the door open, his mouth thin and his eyes grim.

Both Spock and the two other Vulcans looked at him dispassionately. They appeared wholly unconcerned and unsurprised by Jim’s presence. Either they knew he’d been on the other side of the door, or they simply didn’t concern him enough of a threat to care about.

Of course. Stupid Jim. They could easy wipe his mind, should they choose. They could easily kill him, too, but Jim had gathered that this wasn’t their style.

Nonetheless, he had expected more of a reaction. From Spock, at least.

_Spock_.

Jim angled his chin and defiantly glowered into eyes which were currently unrecognizable. That deep, shrewd gaze he’d grown so accustomed to had been replaced with… With nothing. Zombie-blank. Soulless. Total _Walking Dead_.

This was Spock?

_This_ was Spock?

With apparent disinterest, Spock flicked his glance away from Jim, returning to the two others. They were both taller than Spock, slimmer, a little paler and greener around the gills. Their eyes were not warm and brown, but black, like their razor-sharp hairstyles. They were like lengthened, honed swords of creatures.

In the distant recess of Jim’s shock-addled brain, he categorized how truly dissimilar pure Vulcans were from Spock.

Still, no one had said a word.

Jim curled his lips in a humorless grin.  
  
“Don’t let me interrupt, dudes. Keep going. This is better than TV.”

Spock didn’t spare him another glance and Jim felt his ribcage crack open, the cold seep in.

“Unfortunately, Sir, I must confirm the failure of my mission.”  
  
“Should I get some dramatic music all up in this? I mean, gimme a sec and I can pull something up on my phone,” Jim said bitterly. Every word was icing over him like a perfect, protective shell.

The two Vulcans didn’t acknowledge him. They reminded Jim of the creepy-ass murder twins from _The Shining_.

Minutely, Jim saw Spock press his lips together, paling them to bone hue.

“The enlightenment of James Kirk has ultimately been a failure.”

Jim’s heart shattered.

He stood stock-still, feeling every shard shred his innards on their way to the floor. Distantly, he was shocked his entrails didn’t simply sludge to the floor from the jagged, gaping wound slashed from heart to stomach.

Over the past months, Jim had shown Spock his many pieces. The broken glass and shattered family photos. He’d shown Spock his frozen parts. The unfeeling ones, the atrophied ones, the blackened frost-bitten ones.

And Spock had warmed him through. Put him together. Fused the pieces. Put the photos back on the wall. Brought warmth to the fire and laughter to the kitchen.

Everything meant nothing.

Jim shifted from one foot to the other, clearing his watery throat and looking to the ceiling. His laugh was hollow and gritty, like he’d swallowed glass.

“So, uh –” Jim’s smile was tight-lipped and painful. “Everything was for that, huh? I probably should’ve put the pieces together. I mean, being a genius and all. Or something. Maybe not so much anymore. Totally rethinking the whole genius thing after this. So–” Jim released a shaky breath and shook his head, snorting a laugh through is nose as he shrugged and met Spock’s eyes. “So this was all an act, right? From the beginning. You meant to crash your ship here and everything.”

Spock seemed to hesitate for a moment. He looked between the stoically silent Vulcans and Jim.

“The landing was more violent than anticipated. I had not intended to damage my mode of transportation.”

“And had it been your intent to… With me… “

To that, Spock did not reply.

The Vulcan closest to Jim suddenly shot a hand out and wrapped his fingers tightly around Jim’s forearm.

“Erase the human now,” the Vulcan said, entirely ignoring the way Jim struggled like a stuck pig against the iron hold. “Further discussion of your failure will be brought forth to the Elders.”

“Erase? I’ll fucking erase your ass, you green blooded sonofa-“

“Understood,” Spock said, nodding briefly. Impassively, he approached Jim, standing too close. Close enough that Jim’s heart hurt from his familiar warm scent.

The strange Vulcan released Jim’s arm, giving him a little push which nearly had Jim colliding with Spock’s chest.

Gritting his teeth, Jim met Spock’s eyes with barely tamped fury. He knew his face must be red with outrage, but at the very least he wouldn’t give Spock the benefit of seeing his broken heart.

And what of Spock? Jim saw no pain there. No regret or empathy. This was a mirrored version of Spock that he didn’t recognize. Unless the Spock he knew had been the mirrored version all along.

“You told me you’d never do this. Go into my mind,” Jim said quietly, struggling for an even tone. “More than anything else, _this_ is what makes you a piece of shit liar.”

Something flickered in Spock’s eyes. His eyebrows scrunched for the briefest moment, as if Jim had punched his square in the gut.  
  
_Good_.

Jim didn’t give Spock the benefit of flinching as those long, cool fingers slipped into place across his face. For half a second, Jim wondered if he was supposed to feel anything and then –

_Light_.

Jim launched out of a black tunnel and into a blinding landscape. Golden, glittering sand dunes and piercing, cloudless, blue sky. Jim hurled through the air and landed face-first into the sand, immediately rolling over and sputtering, his arms flung out on either side of him as he stared up at the endless azure expanse.

A shadow leaned over him, blocking out the twin suns, and it was Spock.

The Spock that Jim knew.

“What the fuck is going on right now,” Jim said flatly. “Am I dead? Because I expected there to be less _Mad Max_ wasteland and more virgins. That was what I was led to believe.”

“We do not have time for your blathering. Stand up.”

“Fuck you!”

Spock held out a hand. Jim glared.

“Jim,” Spock said softly. “Please take my hand.”

“No,” Jim said tonelessly. Ignoring Spock, he got to his feet and dusted himself off. “What the fuck is this, Spock? Where am I? Why do I still remember you?” Jim’s voice cracked. “Why the fuck did you let this go on for so long? You _asshole_.”

“Please, Jim,” Spock said again, his eyes unnervingly earnest. He held out both hands, palms up. “Take my hands. You will know. Words are ineffectual.”

Biting down on further accusations, Jim looked down between them, at the hands which had once brought him so much life, so much joy and feeling.

Right now, there was only a sense of boiling anger and simmering, sickly dread.

He sighed, met Spock’s gaze with his own dubious one, and placed his palms in Spock’s.

_Love._

A current ran between them, light and electricity and empathy and _love_. Jesus, there was so much. A well, an endless overflow of lush golden sparks and life and breath.

Spock loved him as much, if not more than Jim did. Adoration, respect, humor, appreciation, attraction, intrigue, everything swirled around their bodies in a dance charged with vibrant, blinding _feeling_.

Jim felt full with it, spilled over with Spock’s unchecked emotion.

“Jim,” Spock whispered, enveloping him in an encompassing embrace like he never had before. There was desperation in his voice. Sadness, longing. Humanity. “The only gift I can leave you with is your memory. When we leave here, please act as if I have erased it.”

Jim deeply inhaled Spock’s scent, finding his warmth magnified in this dream world. He floated on the spicy, comforting aroma of Spock before reality scratched at the back of his mind.

“You want me to pretend that you did your job,” Jim murmured against Spock’s neck, feeling his thick hair tickle his noise.

Inwardly, he savored every second of this interaction. Because he knew what he had to do when this was over.

“Yes.”

“Spock,” Jim said softly, resting his brow on Spock’s shoulder for a moment. He took a breath. Two breaths.  
  
Fuck, everything hurt.

_Move, Jim. Move._

Finally, Jim took a step back. Then another, and another, their fingertips slid from each other’s, and their last touch was complete.

“Spock,” Jim said again, stronger, pausing until Spock met his eyes. “The only gift I want is to never see you again.”

The clear stretch of sky stormed over instantly, turbulent winds shrieking around them in the vast expanse of their bond. For a split second, Jim felt Spock’s heartbreak like an anvil, black and crushing upon his chest, and –

Jim sucked in a deep, wheezing breath as he blinks wildly at his bedroom.

Spock’s back was already to him, turned away like a statue of the man Jim once knew.

Jim lurched forward and rested his hands on his knees, sucking in air like a man on the verge of drowning. Spock’s sorrow still filled Jim’s lungs like dark seas.

“The wipe was successful,” Spock said. “I am ready.”

Jim coughed and looked up with watery eyes. His wrinkled his brow and looked between the two Vulcan creeper twins.

“ _Aliens_ ,” he said breathlessly, and promptly rolled his eyes up into his head and fell forward, unceremoniously landing on his face.

“I am continuously perplexed at the human tendency to faint with shock,” Spock said drolly.

“Agreed,” said one Vulcan.

“We must depart,” said the other Vulcan. “We have already beamed your ship up. The Elders expect you as soon as possible.”

“Understood,” Spock said. He paused. Jim heard him take a breath. “Go,” Spock said quietly.

From behind closed eyes, Jim saw that ethereal blue fizzle once more, a hum of noise, then nothing.

Nothing.

Numbly, Jim opened his eyes and sat up. His limbs felt like lead, his shoulders weighed a ton.  
  
Spock was gone. Spock had planned his all along. Spock had come here with the intention of raping Jim’s fucking mind and… and whatever else. It wouldn’t have been some bullshit happy ending like Spock’s mother and father – that was for sure. Nothing for Jim was ever a happy ending.

He wouldn’t cry.

He loved Spock. Maybe always would. Probably always would.

And he really never wanted to see him again.

_This_ , Jim thought, staring at the scarred woodwork of the floor. This was what he knew. Abandonment. Hurt. Picking up the pieces others left behind. Going it alone.

There was a faint knock at the door. Jim didn’t have the energy to jump out of his skin.

“Jim?” It was Sam’s voice. “Are you okay? I heard arguing. I mean… Can I help?”

Jim blinked down at his shaking hands, saying nothing.

Maybe this time he didn’t have to be alone.


End file.
